Dreamers on the Rise
by Cropper
Summary: Please note that this story is a sequel to Race Among the Ruins and picks up roughly eight months after the first one ended. It is not necessary to read RAtR first, but it might be beneficial
1. Prologue

**Title: **Dreamers on the Rise

**Author: **Cropper

**Pairing: **GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, Adult Situations

**Disclaimer: **I do not own them but I wish I did. I mean no harm or infringement and will return everyone to their rightful owners when I finish, I promise.

**A/N: **Thank you,** idreamedmusic, **for translating my English into German. The hefeweizen is on me. I am flying solo this time. All errors are mine.

**Summary: **"Whoever must be a creator always annihilates." _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_ – Friedrich Nietzsche

**Prologue**

Und Ich Erstehe

Far from the blackened abyss

Folded into nothingness

Piercing darkened shroud

With my sword of virtue

I rise

From scattered ashes of morality

Littering scarred and barren landscape

Forever choking, forever swallowing

The angry voice of God

I rise

Formerly a slave

Now a master

The last man falls

Only to live anew

I rise

Ich bin ein Kind. Ich werde. Fűrchte mich.


	2. Chapter One

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity and Graphic Imagery

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **"I teach you the overman. Man is something that shall be overcome."** _Also Sprach Zarathustra_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter One**

**  
**

**I Saw A Man Pursuing The Horizon**

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;

Round and round they sped.

I was disturbed at this,

I accosted the man.

"It is futile," I said,

"You can never - "

"You lie," he cried,

And ran on.

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'Blessed is the lion which becomes man when consumed by man; and cursed is the man whom the lion consumes, and the lion becomes man.' "

**The Gospel of Thomas (7)**

**  
**

_I have risen. I emerge from the barren wilderness on scab-encrusted knees. A child must crawl before learning to walk. Forty days have I fasted, forty days have I waited, forty days have I battled, forty days have I vanquished. I have seen the blackness, lived and loved the frightening horror of nothingness. I embraced the abyss and fell willingly to my death. I am reborn, renewed. I live again. _

_The Last Man and his burdensome camels shall die. They pollute the earth, poison the mind. They dilute the soul until it trickles forth to spill in tepid puddles upon the parched soil. Such waste cannot nourish even the smallest seed. Death to those who rape the spirit. Death to those who corrupt all virtue. Death to those who glorify the herd and its thoughtless meandering._

_I am the Artist. I am the Creator. The world is my canvas; mine to annihilate, mine to reform. I am your Master. I am your God. The god you knew is dead. I have slain him and his useless liturgy of emptiness. I embrace neither your pity nor your suffering. I tolerate not your festering, petty ways. I am the Judge. I am the Jury. I am your Executioner. This is my song._

_I am newborn. I hunger; I thirst. My appetites, of the spirit and of the flesh, are ravenous. I stalk all who defy me, grind them into pulpy marrow in my blood-smeared maw. Their worthless existence shall drip ceaselessly from my finely honed fangs._

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

**  
**

Judge Alethea Simmons was missing, vanished without a trace. One minute she was standing in the Clark County Municipal Courthouse parking lot with a host of other evacuees, sweltering in her officious back judicial robes, the next she had seemingly vaporized into the shimmering waves of heat rising relentlessly from the sticky blacktop. _Star Trek_ transporters aside, people simply do not dissolve into nothingness; it is a molecular impossibility. However improbable, the fantastically impossible had occurred and Judge Simmons was nowhere to be found.

Sara processed the scene, pausing to readjust her dark blue ball cap and futilely swipe at the sweat trickling down the back of her neck as she watched Brass, Greg and some new uniformed police officer she had never seen before canvass the hordes of seemingly blind witnesses and hapless onlookers. She painstakingly photographed the spot where the Judge had last been seen, searching in vain for anything out of place on the steamy, gooey asphalt. Nothing, there was nothing. There were some filthy cigarette butts, an empty coffee cup, and a flattened and forlorn wad of gum which once had been pink but had accumulated so much dirt from tire treads and foot traffic that it now appeared a grimy, nondescript gray.

The only thing of interest was the sizable rock that had been purposefully placed on the trunk of the Judge's bright red Pontiac Solstice. Sara dusted it for prints but came up empty; maybe she would have been better luck with other methods back at the lab. She knew this strange clue was important, but did not know how it fit into the puzzle. What the hell did a big, brownish-orange rock the size of a basketball have to do with a highly respected judge and why was it sitting on her car? And, why did whoever put it there place it on a towel as if they were afraid of scratching or marring the winking, sparkling paint?

Sara worked the scene by rote, her movements mechanical and well-rehearsed as she let her mind freely wander to where it was so often want to roam: Grissom. Eight months had passed since the horrible accident that had very nearly stolen him away; eight months full of pain and joy, heartache and understanding. Eight short months where dreams had soared and changed their lives forever.

_**Once we were dreamers on the rise  
We were the sun, where the sun never shines  
And we were gold, where the night bird only flies  
Ah, that's a long time you know, for that kind of wind to blow  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise**_

There had never been any grand discussion with regard to cohabitation. Sara had simply transferred all of her worldly possessions from her tiny apartment to Grissom's townhouse while he lay recovering in the hospital. Both knew that Sara was the one who would be caring for him during his continued at-home convalescence and the modified living arrangements just made sense. They had shared a bed on the very night Grissom had been discharged from the hospital and every night thereafter. Again, nothing had been said and neither was opposed. For Grissom, his last secret and carefully guarded dream had come true – he had finally found someone who loved him for who he was, flaws and all, someone who truly cared about him and who would hold him tightly for no reason at all. The comfort of lying in Sara's arms was exquisite. For Sara, she really had not known that she so desperately needed so much cuddling until it had become an integral part of her daily life. Having Grissom's strong, undemanding arms wrapped around her was like nestling snuggly within the comforting folds of prized heirloom quilt that had been carefully pieced and stitched together with love, patience and pride.

Grissom's physical injuries from the accident had been devastating and, for awhile, it looked as if his career as a criminalist was in severe jeopardy. He had suffered a deep laceration on his left temple, a broken wrist and dislocated shoulder, also on the left side, and both legs had been mangled. The left had borne the bulk of the damage and it was only through sheer force of will and countless long hours of therapy and daily exercises that Grissom had managed to walk without a cane or perceptible limp. The other injuries, those hidden from sight, were the ones that had nearly killed him.

His torso had been crushed by the steering wheel when the faulty airbag in the little rental car had failed to deploy and the seatbelt had snapped. Several ribs had been broken, his right lung had collapsed and he suffered massive internal bleeding. It was ironic, really. While he remained trapped in the car, the steering wheel had maintained pressure on his wounds and had helped to stem the bleeding. However, once Grissom had been freed from the terrible wreckage, he had very nearly drowned in his own fluids. His blood pressure had bottomed out and his heart had stopped beating five times. The emergency personnel who had attended to him said that it was a miracle he had survived, that he must be a very stubborn man with a lot to live for. He did have a lot to live for, he had everything to live for. He had Sara.

Once he had regained enough strength in his knee to walk without a cane, Grissom had been cleared to return to fieldwork. He had bargained for, and received, an incredible amount of autonomy. The sheriff was so pleased to have him back that he was willing to concede to Grissom's demands. He was still technically the night shift supervisor but no longer had to deal with the mountainous stacks of detested paperwork. That responsibility, along with the yearly personnel reviews, had been passed along to Catherine. Grissom now had the freedom to pick and choose his own cases, conduct whatever experiments he chose, accept whatever lecture offers crossed his desk and to go off and consult on any case that caught his fancy. He had more or less been elevated to Supervisor Emeritus status – all of the privileges with none of the hassles. He could pretty much do as he damn well pleased, and the Vegas lab retained his expertise and name on the letterhead, so to speak. It was a win-win situation for all concerned.

Most importantly, and what Grissom had pushed the hardest for, was that his relationship with Sara was strictly off-limits. Nothing was ever said about him being involved with an "underling" and no word would ever be mentioned. Grissom had made it crystal clear to both the Sheriff and to Ecklie that his private life and the fact that he was fortunate enough to share it with Sara was sacred. If he detected so much as a hint of trouble brewing from on high as far as Sara was concerned, he was gone. He would take his considerable assets and talents, including Sara, elsewhere, and Vegas would lose its lofty standing as the number two lab in the country…Grissom would make certain of that. For a man with little or no interest in understanding petty work place politics, he had learned to play hardball with the best of them.

Sara's thoughts were interrupted when Brass sidled close to mutter, "Looks to me like you're gathering wool instead of evidence."

She had the good grace to blush. Brass had busted her fair and square.

"When will he be back?"

"Not sure. Why?"

"The Sheriff wants him on this."

Sara just raised an inquisitive eyebrow and Brass shrugged.

"The case has gotten too high profile and the Sheriff thinks the media will back off a little if they know Gil is involved."

What Brass failed to mention was the fact that the Sheriff simply did not have the confidence in Catherine to solve this. They really needed Grissom and his mysterious, quirky mind. If anyone could make sense out of this mess, it was Grissom.

"You get anything from the witnesses?" she asked, knowing the chances that anyone had seen anything were slim to none.

"Oh, let's see," he began, sarcasm tinting every word. "Lot's of people remember seeing her talking to a police officer, or wait...maybe it was a bailiff. Could have been a security guard. How about a letter carrier? It was somebody in some sort of uniform and no one seems to agree on what type of uniform it was. Some say it was brown, some dark green, even blue or black. All I can really get a consensus on is that Judge Simmons was last seen talking to a male in a dark-colored uniform. Nobody paid enough attention to come up with a description of the guy."

"Great," huffed Sara. "This is just like the other two."

"Yeah, pretty much. Just a whole lot of nothing."

Sara remembered something. "What about Catherine? She was testifying in the case Judge Simmons was presiding over this morning. Did she see anything?"

Brass simply shook his head. "She was on the phone with Lindsey when it happened."

Before Sara could respond, Catherine strode up and it did not take a CSI III to figure out that her tail was tied into a very tight knot. She leveled both with a piercing glare before launching into a tirade.

"I hate to interrupt Gossip Hour, but we have work to do here. Tell me something I don't already know."

Brass exchanged a dark, knowing look with Sara before providing Catherine with the scant details he had been able to pull together thus far.

"The victim is Judge Alethea Simmons. Oh, you already knew that. Sorry," he snarked with a mirthless smile. He knew Catherine was under a considerable amount of pressure from within the law enforcement arena, but he was less than pleased with her attitude. He continued with the dry recitation of facts. "She is fifty-seven-years-old, married and has two children, both boys. The husband, Jacob, is a big wig with the public utilities. The oldest son, Jarred, is twenty-one and studying pre-law at Stanford. The other, Collin, is nineteen and a poly sci major at Berkeley." He paused a moment to look at Catherine. "Judge Simmons was fairly progressive and favored reform over capital punishment. She was high profile and it's no secret that she had, has, political aspirations. And that's it so far. We're going to pull the husband in for questioning, but with no witnesses, we have nothing to go on at this point"

Catherine's nostrils flared a bit at Brass' barb before she shifted her focus to Sara who merely shrugged. "Other than the big ugly rock and the towel it was sitting on? Nothing, yet. There might be something more when I get back to the lab and process the odd bits of garbage I found."

"Well, as your _lover_ is so fond of saying," Catherine replied acidly, venom dripping from her sneering lips, "there's always a clue. Why don't you quit gabbing and go find it."

Sara's eyes hardened, glittering dangerously like chips of polished onyx, as Catherine whirled and stomped off. She released a harsh breath, muttered an unflattering obscenity in Catherine's wake, and forced herself to relax. She knew that the older woman was simply lashing out at any available victim, but she was tired of being Catherine's personal punching bag.

Brass patted her shoulder in sympathy. "Ignore her. She's just..."

"Hey," Sara said, hastily changing the subject. "Who's your new sidekick?"

Brass glanced at the new officer before answering. "Oh, that's J.J. Cephas. He's some supposed hot shot who transferred in from L.A. about couple of months ago. Said that he was needed more in Sin City than in the City of the Angels, whatever that means."

"Sounds like he thinks pretty highly of himself," she remarked. "Is he really all that and a bag of chips?"

"Ah, who knows. You have to have an ego to be a cop. He just seems to have more of one than most."

Sara smirked as she gave J.J. a very thorough visual appraisal. "I'll bet the ladies love him. He's pretty hot."

Brass just rolled his eyes. Cephas was a nice looking man, a fact that had not escaped the trained eyes of any of the female law enforcement personnel. He was a prime specimen, six-foot, four-inches of tanned, muscular maleness. His dirty blond hair was buzzed in razor sharp crew-cut any gung-ho Marine would envy and his piercing green eyes were constantly scanning, continually searching.

Brass cleared his throat. "While the cat's away the mouse will play?"

Sara shot him a harmless glare. "Nope," she replied saucily. "Just enjoying the scenery."

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Chapter Two

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **"I say unto you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves."**_Also Sprach Zarathustra_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Two**

**I Stood Upon A High Place**

I stood upon a high place,

And saw, below, many devils

Running, leaping,

And carousing in sin.

One looked up, grinning,

And said, "Comrade! Brother!"

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'Let him who seeks continue seeking until he finds. When he finds, he will become troubled. When he becomes troubled, he will be astonished, and he will rule over the All.' "

**The Gospel of Thomas (2)**

_Dance, if you must, my brethren, on the edge of a blade, for a season of joy is upon us. You will see my power and rightness encompass all earthly creation. My magnificence shall outstrip and outshine even the gaudiest of neon glows. I am the beacon, the lighthouse gleaming in the desert. Look into the blackness and see the light._

_Dance, if you must, on the edge of a blade. I have shown your philosophers and your ministers and your judges to be nothing more than misguided prophets spreading an unGodly gospel of servitude and enslavement. Mine is the word, the holiest of all doctrine, the one true sermon to enlighten the masses. I give you freedom. I offer you chaos. Hear my music and be gladdened._

_Dance, if you must, on the edge of a blade. Go into the wilderness and unclothe your worthless shell. Feel the rhythm of my song and worship. Let your naked feet scrape freely across the hot sand. Let the harsh, barren earth abrade your tender flesh. Let the desert drink your bloody sacrifice and belch her thirsty satisfaction, for you will be reborn in my image, you will see what I have seen and know that I am righteous._

_Dance, if you must, on the edge of a blade._

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

Hollis and Cheryl Thompson looked like any other middle-aged couple lured to Las Vegas by the promise of a possible million dollar slots payoff and chance to see Wayne Newton perform live. Hollis was a small man, roughly 5'6" with thinning, graying, limp brown hair worn in a severe comb-over that started just above his left ear and traversed his entire head to lie in a flattened fringe tickling the top of his right ear. His blue eyes were watery, his prominent nose ruddy, and his thin, harsh mouth was set into a permanent frown. The golf shirt he was wearing, a tacky polyester knit decorated lavishly with palm trees, bright red parrots, dancing monkeys and other outlandish tropical characters, was stretched tight over his sizable paunch and tucked firmly into his crisp, well-starched, black Bermuda shorts. Black dress socks cranked to mid-calf and brand new pair of gleaming white walking shoes completed his ensemble.

Cheryl, small and slight with reddish-orange hair piled atop her head in a modified, modernized, bee-hive-type style, had large hazel eyes and glossy, pouting lips. She was dressed in a stylish linen pair of aqua capri pants with a matching top and wore white sandals. Her nails, both finger and toe, were well-manicured and painted a garish, glowing shade that perfectly matched carefully teased hair. Her reading glasses dangled from a beaded chain around her neck and bouncing silver kittens suspended from thin wires danced from her pierced ears.

The Thompsons has seen the news reports about the Judge's kidnapping on the local news in their hotel room and had come forward to offer information. They had neither requested, nor received, legal council for they had done nothing wrong. Their only crime was the fact that they were just good people who had been attempting to assist a stranger in need.

Brass began the questioning by verifying a few facts. "For the record, you are Hollis and Cheryl Thompson and you live near Atlanta, Georgia, correct?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Thompson, smoothing a few wrinkles in her blouse. Her husband sat mutely in his chair, scowling, and allowed his wife to answer for them.

"Can you tell us exactly what happened?" Catherine asked.

"Well," began Mrs. Thompson, drawing out the word in her lilting southern accent, "Hollis and I were out for a little stroll, trying to walk off our big breakfast and see a few sights. Those casinos have wonderful buffets, but I guess I don't have to tell you that, do I. Anyway, we were walking by the courthouse when this man ran up to us..."

"Can you describe him?" interrupted Brass.

"Well..." began Cheryl.

Her stoic husband look at Brass and muttered, "Just a dude in a suit."

"Now, Hollis, they need a little more than that," Cheryl chided. "He was tall, and seemed to be fairly well built but it was hard to tell for sure. His suit looked like it cost a small fortune and the way those nice suits are cut it is sometimes hard to tell how the man inside is really built. At least, that's what my magazines all say."

Catherine rolled her eyes at Brass while their "witness" continued her breathy narration.

"I couldn't see his eyes because he wore sunglasses and he had on some kind of hat so I can't remember what his hair looked like. He was just a very nice, polite man who asked up to help him out, that's all."

Brass was frustrated with the couple's lack of description, but nodded, indicating that she should resume her story.

"Like I was saying, this man ran up to us and asked us to do him a favor. You could see that he was in a really big hurry and needed some help."

Catherine rested her arms on the table and leaned towards Cheryl. "Oh? Why is that?"

"Well, he was all sweaty and out of breath, like he had been running and running and trying to get something done. He was carrying this shopping bag from an expensive store and a _Coach_ briefcase. He must make a pretty penny to afford things like that. See, I'd love to .have nice things like that but we just can't afford them. It took us a year of saving and penny-pinching to save for this trip. But, you don't really want to know that."

Brass smothered a smirk and shook his head gently. He was amused by her candor, it was rather refreshing after so many interviews where people told him nothing but lies.

"As I was saying," said Cheryl, "he was in this real big hurry and asked us to help him out. Now, Hollis and I believe that it only takes a minute to do a good turn so we were more than happy to help him. He told us that his wife, I believe he said that her name was Muriel Stremming, was a prosecuting attorney in the middle of a really big murder case. She spilled coffee all over her blouse while she was driving to work because she had to slam on her brakes so that she wouldn't hit some poor dog that ran out in the road. Plus, she was in such a hurry when she left that house that morning that she grabbed his briefcase instead of hers. She must be a really important woman."

Catherine and Brass exchanged a look. Both were very familiar with Muriel Stremming as they had worked with her on numerous occasions and both knew that Ms. Stremming was single.

"So, this man, I guess his name would be Mr. Stremming, now wouldn't it, asked us if we would take the shopping bag and briefcase into the courthouse and put it outside the door to Courtroom Three. Either his wife or one of her assistants would grab the stuff at a witness change or a recess. He said that he would do it himself but he was double parked and late for a client meeting. Hollis and I took the stuff inside like he asked and then went on about our business. That's it."

Cheryl finished with a flourish of waving hands and bouncing earrings.

"You didn't happen to see his car," wondered Catherine, knowing that they hadn't."

"Nope," grumped Hollis. "The wife has told you everything we know."

Brass and Catherine nodded at each other and stood, indicating that the interview was over.

"Well, thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson," he said while motioning them through the door and into the hall. "You've been very helpful. This officer will escort you back to your hotel."

They turned and left the Georgians in the capable hands of Officer Jackson, walking to meet Warrick and Sara who had watched the interrogation from behind the two-way mirror.

"They're telling the truth," sighed Brass. "Their story matches what the security footage shows. All they did was put the briefcase outside the door and leave. There was nothing suspicious about them or the way they were acting. And, they have a taxi receipt to prove that they were on their way to the Liberace Museum when the kidnapping took place."

"So," said Catherine, picking up the narrative, "they put the briefcase, which had passed through a metal detector and an x-ray machine, outside the courtroom. A security guard wanders along a few minutes later, finds it, picks it up to examine it and notices that it is ticking."

Warrick picked up the story next. "The security guard calls 911 and the bomb squad and the courthouse is evacuated."

"Pretty slick," muttered Sara.

"Oh, it was slick all right," replied Catherine, "especially since the ticking was not more than a microcassette recorder playing a tape of a ticking clock. But we don't really have anything new to go on, do we. I suggest we all get back to the lab and try to come up with something that will help find Judge Simmons."

Sara and Warrick remained in the hall following the departure of Catherine and Brass. Warrick looked puzzled and gave voice to the thoughts that were bothering him.

"I don't get it. He snatched the first two victims with no witnesses – one at night and one during the day. He could have easily grabbed the Judge when she arrived that morning. Why the elaborate ruse? He obviously doesn't need it. It's almost as if he is trying to prove something."

"Maybe that's the point," said Sara thoughtfully.

"Damn, girl!" he exclaimed, shooting her an odd look. "You've been spending too much time with Grissom. You're starting to sound just like him."

Sara merely smiled, more pleased than she could ever attempt to explain by the compliment.

Warrick took in her cheshire grin and asked, "Things good at home?"

"Yeah, they're great. Why?"

"Just asking, just asking. Both of you seem happy these days."

With that observation, Warrick left Sara alone in the hall, lost in thought, while he wandered off in search of lunch.

Life with Grissom _was_ good, Sara silently mused, _very_ good. Theirs was a simple, easy existence that might not have been possible before the accident. They had their ups and downs like any couple learning to live together and adjust to each other's idiosyncrasies and peculiarities. At first, Sara assumed that Grissom would be more difficult and require an over-abundance of patience since he had lived alone for so long that he was unaccustomed to having to share himself and his space. However, as it turned out, Sara had to admit that she was definitely the more temperamental of the two and much more baffling to live with than Grissom. She still occasionally reflected back to when her irritability had erupted and a simple misunderstanding, a few words spoken in a flash of unreasonable moodiness, had very nearly ended their burgeoning relationship.

It had been a shitty shift. Sara had been literally forced to wade through the human sludge that formerly constituted three fraternity brothers who, after a bout of heavy drinking, stole secretively into a storm sewer for a little illicit exploration. No one was really certain as to what had happened, but the soupy mess discovered by a Department of Public Works employee guaranteed that Sara's night would be a long, nauseating affair. Catherine seemed to delight in assigning Sara and Greg to the most horrific and disgusting scenes that popped up and the duo could do nothing more than grin and bear it.

Sara was in a frightfully evil mood when she arrived home after shift. Even after showering three times and using about six gallons of lemon juice, she still felt dirty, grungy. Her skin still had that creepy-crawly feel and she was generally bitchy; pissed off at the world in general and any person foolish enough to cross her path or look at her the wrong way. Grissom was aware of her foul temperament and did everything in his power to make her feel better. He made no attempt at small talk, prepared her favorite breakfast and gave her the space that she so desperately seemed to need. When he joined her on the sofa to watch television after tidying the kitchen, he kept his distance and sat on the opposite end, saying nothing, respecting her unspoken wishes.

They sat in silence for awhile, until she stretched out to recline with her head in his lap. Grissom was pleased, for he interpreted her movement as an invitation to offer a little comfort and support. He started gently combing his fingers through the still-damp strands of her silky hair, knowing that Sara was very responsive to scalp rubs for they relaxed her and helped her unwind enough to slip into slumber after a grueling night's work. While Grissom's thoughtful massage was something she would normally welcome, she was uncharacteristically annoyed by his attention. The more he played with her hair, the angrier she became. Her mood, combined with the fact that she still felt filthy, caused something deep inside of her to snap.

"Damnit, Gris! Knock it off!" she growled menacingly. "Get your paws off me and leave me the hell alone. Better yet, just leave!"

She ended on a furious note and could not help but see the wave of pain that crashed through Grissom's eyes before he willfully hammered his features into a carefully blank, smoothly stony mask. He muttered a hoarsely choked, "If you will excuse me," and struggled from the couch cushions, limping slowly to his study and quietly closing the door.

"Oh, fuck," Sara breathed. "This is so not good."

Sara knew the moment the awful words, bitter vetch, had left her petulant lips that she had inflicted some serious damage. The absolute anguish Grissom had momentarily displayed was truly heart-wrenching for he had done nothing wrong. She knew that all of the blame lay squarely upon her slender shoulders, for she had been the one spoiling for a fight, was not especially fit for human consumption and had lashed out at the last person in the world that she wanted to hurt. She knew she should go knock on the study door and talk to him but thought that they could both benefit from a little cooling off period. She wandered off to bed and had disquieting visions of Grissom drowning in a whirlpool of lemon-scented sewage.

When Sara awoke, she immediately went in search of Grissom so they could straighten out this whole mess. She had a ton of explaining and apologizing to do for she had ruthlessly punished him for no reason. Had Sara been that ugly to any of the guys at work, they would have rightfully snarked something nasty in return and that would have been the end of it. But Grissom? Grissom was an entirely different creature. Part man and part child, he had suffered third degree relationship burns so many times that he had no confidence whatsoever in his ability to fulfill any expectations in the significant other department. She knew that he would take all of the blame upon himself and add this supposed failure to a long, long list of abandonment and rejection.

She strode purposefully into the kitchen, expecting to find him preparing dinner. All she found was the small table set for one and an excrutiatingly polite note explaining where to find her dinner. Grissom was conspicuous in his absence, but, Sara had to admit that she was enjoying the unexpected solitude. This was the first time since Grissom had been released from the hospital that she had some time all to herself. However, by the time she had to shower and get ready for work, Sara found that she was lonely. She missed talking to him and wanted to cuddle a bit before facing whatever new horrors awaited her.

When Sara arrived home after shift, her resolve to straighten out the whole mess strengthened, she found her breakfast waiting but no Grissom. The kitchen was immaculate, as was the bathroom and she noticed that the bed linens had been changed. Those were the only signs that he had even returned to the house.

And, so it went, for a full week. She neither saw nor heard from Grissom, but she knew that he was close as he was still taking care of her, still loving her. Her meals were always waiting for her, the laundry was freshly washed and folded and the bathroom and kitchen were spotless. It was as if nothing had changed save for the fact that he was nowhere to be found.

By the end of the week, Sara was seething with anger. She was tried of Grissom's infantile behavior, tired of him thinking that he had some silly point to prove. Yeah, she had treated him like shit, but hiding from her and refusing to talk to her would not resolve the situation. She left the breakfast sitting on the table and went out in search of her wayward child.

There were not many places Grissom would go and Sara searched the usual haunts with no success. She was about ready to give up when she remembered the koi pond near the town house where Grissom like to sit and watch the sun set. As she made her way down the paved path to the pond she spotted him sitting alone a bench, his face tilted toward the horizon as if trying to absorb the last tinge of warmth from the waning daylight and seeking the secrets of the universe from the pink and amber tinted sky. His shoulders were slumped and he appeared, at first glance, to be just another broken man disillusioned by the glitz and glamor of Sin City, another hapless victim who had fallen prey to the salacious siren call of Lady Luck. She stealthily stole behind him and grasped both of his shoulders to get his attention.

Grissom jumped at the unexpected contact and whipped his head around so fast that his sunglasses nearly flew from his face. Sara saw a flash of unguarded joy in his features before the shutters fell firmly into place rendering his expression carefully neutral. He pulled his shades off and Sara saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen. She swallowed a huge lump in her throat as she, for perhaps the first time, fully realized the extent of the pain she had inflicted. She had made him cry.

She sat next to him on the bench, purposefully allowing her thigh to rest snuggly against his. He bowed his head and stared at the ground, his hands tightly fisted and hanging between his splayed legs.

Sara's voice was soft when she finally found enough courage to speak. The raw emotion he had let her glimpse humbled her and washed away all of the anger and frustration she had been harboring. She was worried, afraid that she had shattered him beyond repair.

"Where have you been?"

He merely shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Are you ever coming home?"

He did not look up when he whispered, "I can't."

He was not going to make this easy for her. She was going to have to work for every word, every thought. "Why can't you?"

"You…you told me to leave." There was no accusation in his tone, just despair so rich Sara could practically taste it on her tongue.

"Grissom," she began, trying hard to squelch a rising tide of annoyance. "I didn't mean it and you know it!"

He finally raised his head to look at her and one quick glance into his eyes told her that he did not know, that he had no idea that she had not meant any of it. Like the innocent child clothed in the trappings of a man that he was, he had believed every awful word she had said.

When he continued, his voice was unbelievably sad and broken. "I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much. I want to fix this, I want to make this better, but I don't know how. I can't…"

"Gris, I don't hate you, not even close. I said a lot of things that I shouldn't have and that I didn't mean. I was just blowing off steam." She reached out to rub his back. He stiffened at the contact but made no other move. "Baby, listen to me. I had a bad shift and I took it out on you. I should not have yelled at you and I apologize."

He did not respond but Sara knew he was listening.

"You have to believe me, Gris. I was just in a really pissy mood and I guess I just wanted you to feel as rotten as I did. I honestly did not think that you would take me seriously."

"Sara, I take everything you say very seriously. All I want is for you to be happy."

"Baby, I _am_ happy, with you. I _am_ happy, because of you. I have been happier in the months I have spent with you than I have ever been in my entire life. YOU are what makes me happy, Gris, you and no one else."

He stared deep into her eyes for long intense moments, seeking the truth behind her words. He finally was able to see the love and need shining back at him and nodded once, indicating that he believed her.

"I can't stand seeing you so miserable, Grissom."

"Misery and I are old companions, Sara. I am used to her company."

As they walked slowly back to the house, Grissom was careful not to touch Sara. The hand not holding his cane was buried deeply in his jacket pocket and he left a respectable amount of fresh air between them. They fixed dinner together, cleaned up the kitchen together, watched television together and even went to bed together. Throughout the evening, Grissom had kept his distance, making sure that he did not brush up against her while clearing the table or doing the dishes and opting to sit in a recliner instead of on the couch with her.

Sara glanced up from the book she was reading and sighed wearily as she set her book on the nightstand and clicked off her light. Grissom lay on his side facing away from her and she could literally see the tension dancing a gleeful watusi up and down his spine as he tried to go to sleep. Grissom was a cuddler, a great warm teddy bear of a cuddler, and this hands-off policy had to be killing him.

"Are you ever going to touch me again?" Sara asked softly.

"I want to." His whispered response was a sad combination of pain and longing. He was waging a bitter war with himself over what he so desperately wanted, needed, and what Sara might allow.

"What's stopping you?"

His answer was a simple truth with no hint of recrimination. "You."

"Me?"

"Sara, you told me to stop and I stopped. I don't…you…you…"

"What, baby?"

"You haven't give me permission to touch you again."

"Roll over." As he settled on his back, Sara gently kissed his lips before unbuttoning his pajama top and snuggling down on his chest, sighing happily at the sound of his reassuring heart beat. She had missed this, the closeness, the scent and taste of him, the feeling of his smooth skin rising into tightly pebbled goosebumps beneath her searching fingers.

Sara realized, as she slid towards slumber, that Grissom was holding himself absolutely rigid. His hands were clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles were practically glowing white in the darkness of the room. His eyes were screwed shut and sweat was beading along his hairline as his lips moved soundlessly in an endless litany. It took her a moment to figure out what was wrong, why he was playing statue. She had not yet given him permission to touch her and without a blatant invitation to do so, he would not lay a finger on her.

"Please, baby. Please touch me."

Grissom slowly uncurled a fist and shakily raised his right hand to stroke tentatively along her back. His caresses were furtive, as if he expected her to change her mind at any moment and banish him back to his own personal corner of hell. Sara kissed his neck and nuzzled his beard, her actions encouraging him to grow a bit bolder. Soon both of his hands had slipped beneath her t-shirt and were roaming ravenously along her spine. She could feel the hunger in his fingers as he left friction ridges along her skin, but knew his appetite was of the spirit and not the flesh. He was reacquainting himself with the splendor of holding her once again and could only marvel at the sense of contentment.

_**And twice, we said we'd begin again**_

_**And we made a vow that we'd remain as friends**_

_**And, falling down we said we shall rise again**_

_**Ah,that's a long time you know **_

_**For that kind of wind to blow**_

_**Long time ago we were dreamers on the mend**_

_**Long time ago we were dreamers on the mend**_

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter Three

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **"No shepherd and one herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever feels different goes voluntarily into a madhouse"** _Also Sprach Zarathustra_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

Chapter Three

If there was a witness to my little life,

To my tiny throes and struggles,

He sees a fool;

And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.

**Stephen Crane **

"Jesus said, 'Show me the stone which the builders have rejected. That one is the cornerstone'."

**The Gospel of Thomas (66)**

_I have preached the word and none have listened. You cling, still, to your idols, your graven images of deceit and deception. Your insolence is an abomination to my spirit, an insult to my glorious magnificence. You shall listen, you shall obey. You have no choice but to hear me and believe all that I say. Mine is the voice of reason. Mine is the voice of truth. Hear me. You will pay. _

_I have shown you the true path and still you stray. You hide in the neon jungle, burying your blackened souls in the greed and lust of sinful over-indulgence. You shall listen, you shall obey. You will follow my light and bow before me. You will worship at my feet and lick them clean. You will pay. _

_I have revealed my glory and my power and you have turned away. You slink back into that which has made you comfortable and compliant. Nevermore shall you retreat from me, for I am your God. I am the Shepherd, you the pathetic Herd. You shall do my bidding, and only my bidding, now and always. You will pay. _

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

The inky blackness of night was slowly dissolving into morning; radiant pinks and pastel blues were smeared across the horizon, heralding the dawn and ushering in a new day. Time was irrelevant, meaningless, in the sterile confines of the Crime Lab. All the members of the Graveyard Shift were working frantically, hoping to come up with something, anything that would give them a lead on their perpetrator. They were racing the clock for they knew what the coming day would bring…fire.

At some point during this second day of Judge Simmons' disappearance, flames would erupt, either in her chambers at the courthouse or in her own home, and everything the Judge had worked for, had fought for, had struggled and surpassed the odds for, would be nothing more than kindling for the conflagration that was to come. Even with 'round the clock police presence, even with extra security, there would be a fire. Some how, some way, this self-proclaimed "Red Lion" would find a chink in the armor, slip inside and...fire.

DNA evidence on the coffee cup, cigarette butts, chewing gum and other debris found in the courthouse parking lot was still pending. The rock, a very common stone that could be found in any landscaping store in Clark County or picked up in the outlying desert, had yielded nothing. There were no prints, no fibers, no blood smears, and no trace of any kind. Again, as in the other two cases, they had nothing substantial to work with and what little they did have, made absolutely no sense.

Jacob Simmons had been interviewed and cleared. He had been embroiled in a grueling board meeting when his wife had disappeared. Aside from the various criminal cases his wife had presided over, he could think of nothing in their personal lives or close circle of friends that would lead her to be a target for something like this. Alethea was an exceptionally kind woman, a great mother and a wonderful wife. Neither she nor Jacob had ever indulged in an extra-marital dalliance and, although they experienced the usual ebbs and flows associated with any relationship, their marriage was strong. Jacob left the interview to bring his sons home and wait in vain for a ransom call that would never come. The chances of him ever seeing his wife again were growing smaller with each passing hour.

Muriel Stremming had also been unable to provide any useful information. There was nothing on her current calendar in her pending cases that had any connection to the three victims. She had tried several cases before Judge Simmons and those cases would be reviewed for any possible links, but that avenue of investigation would most likely lead to another dead end. Muriel was not married and, at the moment, did not even have a live-in or significant other. She was either chosen at random or happened to be in a courtroom that had some significance to the kidnapper/killer.

The pressure for a break or a lead of some sort was mounting. The press corps was camped outside the doors of the LVPD waiting for any tidbit of information that might be tossed their way. Talk radio channels were blithering incessantly about the lack of progress and local television stations were beginning to question the competency of both the police and the criminalists. The Mayor, Sheriff and Ecklie were hounding Catherine mercilessly for a solve and Cat, in turn, was chewing every ass she could find.

Warrick had been sent to retrieve the case files connected to Judge Simmons and Ms. Stremming. He and Nick had fought for the opportunity to escape the lab, even if only for a few minutes, but Warrick had prevailed. Sara welcomed her own slight respite when she walked over to dispatch to pull the 911 voice logs of all calls pertaining to the three cases. She had to get out, even if just for a few minutes.

She purposefully looked for Jimmy Matthews, one of the overnight dispatchers. Jimmy was a stickler for rules and would not normally bend them for anyone, even the Mayor himself, but Sara knew his weakness and would not hesitate to exploit it. Jimmy was a small, shy, timid man who thought Grissom parted the Red Sea and walked on water. Jimmy practically worshipped the ground Grissom walked on and leapt at any opportunity to provide any type of assistance. Sara was aware of all of this and was not at all opposed to tossing Grissom's name about to get what she wanted.

As she had suspected, Jimmy was more than happy to help, nearly falling over himself in his haste to get what Grissom needed. "Here you go, Miss Sidle," he said while handing over copies of the tapes. "I hope they help Dr. Grissom find the guy."

Sara gave him a smile. "Thanks, Jimmy. They should be a big help. I'll let you know if Archie finds anything and I'll be sure to let Grissom know that the tapes came from you."

Jimmy practically beamed before clearing his throat. "Miss Sidle," he began hesitantly. "Ummm…would you like to go out for a drink or something sometime? With me?"

"Oh, wow, Jimmy," she spluttered. She had not expected him to ask her out. She thought all of Jimmy's love was reserved for Grissom and was surprised that he did not seem to know that she and Grissom were involved as it was common knowledge. She thought everyone knew that she and Grissom were a couple. "I really appreciate the offer and I'm truly very flattered. However, I am involved in a serious relationship and am just not interested in seeing anybody else." She winced as he seemed to deflate right in front of her. She knew that it had probably taken him awhile to gather the courage to ask.

"Tell you what. The next time the shift goes out for breakfast, I'll let you know and you can join us. Is that okay?"

He nodded, disappointed that Sara was seeing someone else, but pleased with the invitation to join the team and Dr. Grissom for breakfast. It was a fair trade-off.

Sara returned to the lab, dropped the tapes off for analysis and wandered into the breakroom for a much-needed cup of tea. There was nothing to do at this point but wait. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes. She was tempted to call Grissom but hoped that he was sleeping. He had been away for almost four weeks and Sara was feeling the bite of separation. The pangs of loneliness hit her the hardest when she had nothing to occupy her time. It was during these moments, when her guard was down and longing for Grissom most acute, that she drifted, recalling snippets of their life together to soothe her heart and rekindle her desires, slipping back to the first time they had shared a bed for anything other than sleep.

The move into physical intimacy had been cautious, despite the fact that they shared a bed on a nightly basis and were very comfortable with each other. They had touched and even kissed; sweet, chaste pecks to say "Hello", "Have a good day", Good morning", Sleep well", and "I love you". Their tongues had been timidly introduced to one another but were still at the polite small talk stage, discussing Platonic love and courtly Victorian notions of physical intimacy as opposed to anything more lusty and risqué. They had shared a few well-timed and well-placed caresses but nothing too hot and heavy and certainly nothing below the belt. They had seen each other in various stages of dress and undress but there was still a vast wilderness of uncharted territory to explore.

Neither really questioned why they were moving so slowly. Certainly the seriousness of Grissom's injuries had provided some early obstacles but all, save for his troublesome left knee, had largely faded with few visible scars left to tell the terrible tale. Maybe Sara was waiting for Grissom to make the first move to let her know that he was fully healed and physically capable of more rigorous activity, or maybe Grissom was waiting for Sara to show him that this was real and what she truly desired, that she believed in him and what they were building as much as he believed in her, in them. Or, maybe, both simply preferred to allow their hearts, minds and souls to form an iron-clad, unbreakable bond before bringing their bodies into the mix.

Past relationships and affairs were rarely discussed, a minor miracle for which Grissom was profoundly grateful, as he had still not revealed his virginity to Sara. She had shared the painful details about a couple of prior liaisons that had quickly fallen apart once sex became part of the equation because there was no foundation on which to build once the physical curiosity had been satiated. Both wanted so much more than just a mindless, loveless fuck. They wanted everything, they wanted forever. They had waited years to be together, so a few more days, weeks or even months were no great hardship. There was a time and place for everything, even sex and love, especially sex with love.

They were lounging comfortably, talking softly and unwinding; sharing their day and waiting for sleep to claim them. Both loved these quiet moments together when they could toss out their stress and anxieties and just enjoy the presence of the other. The room was dark, curtains shuttered tightly to blot out the light and the dimness just added to the peacefulness permeating the room and their bed.

Grissom rolled on his side to face Sara, watching her silently, head propped in his palm. She felt the weight of his perusal and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, shocked by both the innocence and intensity of his quiet contemplation. He had never looked at her like that before and Sara felt a small quiver of anticipation. She turned her head to give him her undivided attention and he simply held her gaze for a long moment before scooting closer to nestle down between her breasts. Sara gently ran her fingers through his hair and breathed out a soft sigh and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, encouraging him to follow any path he might choose.

For long moments, Grissom merely rested, absorbing Sara's lovely essence into his skin, allowing it to flow into his soul and consume his senses. He tentatively nuzzled her breast and began to press whisper-light kisses along its supple roundness through her t-shirt, his warm breath dampening the thin purple cotton. Sara slid her hand down his softly bristled jaw, grasping his chin firmly to pull his mouth to hers for a slow, languid kiss. Shy, tentative pecks quickly morphed into slower, more serious presses. Sara's tongue nudged against Grissom's lips and she growled softly as she slipped inside his warm, eager mouth. Their tongues tangled wantonly, a wild, exotic tango fanning embers of want into roiling flames of need. It was frenzied, it was frantic, and it was perfect. But it wasn't nearly enough.

Both were breathing harshly when Grissom reluctantly pulled his mouth from hers. He stared at her, his glittering blue eyes boring in to the coffee-tinted depths of hers, silently asking permission before lifting her shirt over her head and baring her glorious skin to his wondering gaze. He visually devoured her pale, luminescence before finally placing a shaky hand upon her bare breast. With fingers twitching slightly, he cautiously closed them to enfold her mounded flesh. Sara released a breathy moan at the contact, reaching out to grasp Grissom's broad shoulders with both arms and pull him back to her hungry lips.

Grissom tenderly kneaded and caressed her breasts, sliding his hands over her taut nipples, and delighting in the feel of her tightly ruckered nubs slipping sensually against his sweaty palms. Sara arched into his hands, seeking more pressure, and he granted her wish, pressing more firmly as she groaned loudly in appreciation. His beard tickled the sensitive skin of her neck as his mouth moved lower to slide across her collarbones, tasting every inch of her flushed skin as he continued his journey downward.

Sara hissed sharply when his mouth finally closed around one of her painfully erect nipples. She held his head tightly in place as he suckled softly, sweetly. His thumb played with the other, rubbing maddening circles across the surface, pulling gently to mimic the suction of his mouth before slipping free to explore the quivering satin of her abdomen.

Sara could feel every whorl and groove of his fingertips, every friction ridge against her awakened skin as his hand skated lower to tangle in her dark curls. She whimpered when his mouth left her breast but bit her lip when he gently removed her panties. Grissom was mesmerized by the sight splayed out before him. He had seen girlie magazines and stag films before but never the sheer beauty of Sara glistening with arousal. He swallowed hard before giving into temptation and sliding a finger into her moist cleft.

"Sara, please," he begged softly. "Teach me how to love you."

Sara was astounded. Never had anyone taken the time to ask, let alone seemed to care what she liked. Her throat was tight with emotion as she placed her smaller hand over his and guided him into herself. His hand trembled as she shyly revealed her secrets. She showed him where to touch, how to touch, she taught him her rhythm and pressure. She showed him things she had never shared with anyone else and he was a very avid student. She removed her hand and pulsed beneath him, straining for more.

"Gris, I need...I need..." She could not continue the hoarse whisper and grabbed his hand again to show him. She guided two of his sturdy fingers up her slick channel, moaning loudly and he began to stroke and rub, moving in and out in sync with her gyrating hips. His mouth reclaimed her nipple as he thumb sought out the bundle of nerves. He brushed against it twice before Sara tensed, cried out and clenched tightly around his fingers.

Her breathing was still ragged when Grissom snaked his tongue out to taste what his fingers had just wrought. Sara wound her hands into his hair as he greedily retraced the route she had drawn, an erotic trail forever emblazoned in his mind. Her scent was intoxicating, her flavor overpowering. Sara was a delectable feast, a succulent delicacy that would forever leave him craving more. He redoubled his efforts and was rewarded with a painful tug on his scalp and squeak of his name as Sara rode off into ecstasy once again.

He moved back up the bed and wrapped his arms around her, snuggling her to him as she drifted through her hazy afterglow. Grissom was not exactly sure what came next. Well, in theory, he knew, but he was uncertain of the protocol. He was aware that it was "his turn", so to speak, but he was more than satisfied to simply hold her. True, he was completely aroused and very uncomfortable, but his needs were not urgent enough to make him ask Sara for anything more. If she was not willing to continue he was fine with that. She had already given him so much more than he ever thought he had a chance to receive. He would forever cherish this gift. And, once she was asleep, he would just slip into the bathroom and relieve the pressure. He was quite skilled at taking care of matters himself.

As Sara slowly recovered, she realized that Grissom was holding her, helping her come back to herself. She could feel him unconsciously grinding against her thigh. He was rock hard and his sleep pants were damp. Her eyes welled with unshed tears, for despite the fact that he had to be anxious to continue, he had waited for her instead of blindly seeking his own release. Such good deeds deserved a reward, and Sara decided to show Grissom just how much she was touched by his loving and thoughtful concern.

She licked her way down his sternum, pausing to nibble at his flat nipples, and grinning wickedly when his breath caught in his throat. Her hands traced the thin line of fur leading from his navel to points south and deftly loosened the drawstring holding his pajama pants in place. She bade him to lift his hips and pulled his bottoms completely free and tossed them heedlessly on the floor. She had seen Grissom nude before, several times in fact, as she had tended to him throughout his recovery, but never like this, never fully aroused and gloriously erect. He was an impressive sight – long, thick and pulsing with heat.

"Oh, wow, Gris. If I'd known this is what you've been hiding in your boxers all this time, I'd have jumped you years ago."

Sara reached for him and watched as his eyes widened with shock and amazement. It was the first time that a hand other than his own had ever touched, let alone danced purposefully along his shaft. His chest was heaving; his breathing labored as he reveled in the delicious torture and fought to furiously control the rapidly building orgasm churning madly within his testicles. He had fantasized about someone, anyone, touching him intimately for years, but the reality, and the fact that the hands belonged to Sara, was far too overwhelming for him to process.

Sara indulged in a few firm strokes before lowering her head to suckle his weeping tip. Grissom's hands gripped the sheets and nearly ripped them from the bed as she lapped noisily, trying to catch every droplet oozing from his throbbing cock. When she finally took all him of him in, his reaction was immediate and unexpected. He thrust wildly, grasped at her hair and tried to pull away as if the heat of her mouth scalded him. She batted his hands away and forced her weight upon his hips to hold him in place as she ruthlessly applied more suction and hummed a little tune of absolute delight. She knew he was close but had barely begun to move when his orgasm rocketed violently with no warning. She swallowed quickly and rubbed his stomach in long soothing strokes, overwhelmed and utterly pleased with herself.

He was completely limp. His lips moving but no sound was forthcoming. He was dazed and completely unaware of anything except the intense pleasure Sara had just selflessly given him. Sara kissed him softly and watched with amusement as his eyes blinked open and he struggled to focus. "Damn, baby," she muttered, grinning like the much-satisfied cat that had just devoured a helpless canary. "You jumped like you were on fire. If I didn't know better, I might think that was the first blow job you'd ever had."

Grissom thought for a moment, wondering how to respond. Should he stretch things a bit and tell her that it had just been a long time, which was technically not a lie since never is a pretty long time, or simply tell her the truth?

"It was," he quietly confessed.

"Really?" Sara was secretly pleased. She knew that at his age he had been around the block a few times and was thrilled that she had been able to give him something he had never before received.

He nodded, certain that he was blushing, as he rose from bed and moved towards the bathroom. Sara heard running water and Grissom returned a few minutes later with a warm washcloth and proceeded to erase the sticky residue of their mutual passion from her body, rubbing the nubby cloth over her still-sensitive folds in gentle, loving strokes.

Grissom settled back in bed, not really sure what to expect. He had never been in this situation before. What happens after two people share such closeness? Were they supposed to stare at the ceiling until sleep overtook them? Were they supposed to talk about what happened? Should he thank Sara for what she had done or apologize for having such a short fuse? Had he managed to please her? Was she satisfied with his first bumbling efforts at love-making? Should…

His worrisome thoughts were interrupted when Sara pecked his lips sweetly and nestled down into her usual spot upon his chest. She stroked the skin over his heart a few times, as if to reassure herself that what had just occurred between them was real. Her eyes fluttered and Grissom could barely make out her soft whisper as she drifted off.

"Love you."

He held her tighter and sighed dreamily. Despite the splinter of self-doubt tickling through his brain, the wisp of performance anxiety fluttering in the dark recesses of his conscience, Grissom honestly could not remember a moment in his life when he had ever experienced such unadulterated happiness. He had not known that such bliss existed and, until Sara, he had not dared hope that he would be allowed to grasp even the smallest sliver of paradise.

"Too."

**_Ah, that's a long time you know_**

**_For that kind of wind to blow_**

**_Long time ago we were dreamers on the rise_**

Sara was startled from her doze when Nick spoke in her ear and gently shook her shoulder. 

"Hey, the call came in. It's time to roll."

"Where," she asked, trying to quickly shake the vestiges of her very pleasant musings and slip back into criminalist mode.

"The courthouse," Nick replied, grim faced. "Somehow the SOB slipped past security and torched the chambers."

Sara nodded resolutely and rose from her chair. It was time to get back to work.

"Oh," Nick tossed over his shoulder. "We got a DNA hit on that coffee cup you found in the parking lot. You will never guess who it is."

Sara waited impatiently while Nick paused for dramatic effect. He had definitely been working with Greg way too much.

"Officer J. J. Cephas."

**To Be Continued... **


	5. Chapter Four

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **"The air thin and pure, danger near, and the spirit full of gay sarcasm: these go well together."** _Also Sprach Zarathustra_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Four**

**There Was A Crimson Clash Of War**

There was a crimson clash of war.

Lands turned black and bare;

Women wept;

Babes ran, wondering.

There came one who understood not these things.

He said, "Why is this?"

Whereupon a million strove to answer him.

There was such an intricate clatter of tongues,

That still the reason was not.

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'I have cast fire upon the world, and see, I am guarding it until it blazes'."

**The Gospel of Thomas (10)**

_I am the fire, the Holy flame. I blaze suddenly over all the earth, consuming all that you are, your vile wickedness, your vain egoism, leaving only sodden piles of smoldering ash and worthless rubble. It is all that is left of you, and all that there shall be. I tickle delightedly at your ponderous feet as you shuffle along, lapping greedily at your loathsome flesh as you toil for One who cares not. Whiter, hotter I flare in my omnipotence, flaring higher, ever higher, as you screech to Him who can no longer save you. You scream for mercy from He who can no longer hear. You pray for salvation from He who can no longer heed your piteous wails. He is no more. He is dead._

_I am the fire, the Holy flame. I have spewed forth my heat, vaporizing all that lies in my path of creation. I have laughingly destroyed your neon temples and gilt-edged chapels. Your altars cannot withstand my wrath and melt beneath the scorching glare of my wrath. He to whom you have built these hideous walls, He to whom you have sanctified your meaningless souls in hope of redemption is gone. He is no more. He is dead._

_I am the fire, the Holy flame. Embrace my glory, feel my power flicker violently in your mind. I am He, I am the One. I am your salvation, your only hope. _

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

Sara and Nick exited the courthouse. They had done all they could do inside. If anything probative or incriminating existed, other than the strange note they had found carefully encased in a sandwich bag and thoughtfully pinned to the outer doorframe, it had burned to ash in the white-hot conflagration. Sara's eyes were lowered while she checked her voice mail, hoping for a message from Grissom while Nick yammered non-stop in her ear. He was going on about the hot babe he was supposed to meet for drinks that evening, if he could slip away from Catherine's evil clutches. Sara smirked gleefully at the comment, momentarily imagining Catherine as some great hoary beast with long, curving claws and piercing yellowed fangs. Nick returned her grin and Sara glanced away, stopping dead in her tracks as something caught her attention. Nick followed her gaze and his smiled broadened.

"I'm going on ahead," he started, obvious amusement in his voice, "to get this stuff logged in. I'll see you when I see you."

His words barely registered as Sara drank her fill of the sight that had her so distracted, so thoroughly enchanted. Grissom. He was standing next to a police cruiser involved in a serious conversation with Brass. He looked good, too good. He had lost a little weight and needed a haircut but to her starving gaze he was a welcome oasis in the middle of a vast desert of loneliness. She could not wait to tangle her fingers in the thick curls now fringing his sun-bronzed nape. He had apparently spent a considerable amount of time outside while he was away. They had been apart for three weeks and five days, which was three weeks and four days too long as far as she was concerned.

Without warning, Grissom's attention swiftly shifted from Brass, as if he had somehow felt her openly devouring him. Their eyes locked and the charge of energy that swiftly sliced the air between them was as potent and powerful and brightly shocking as any bolt of jagged ground lightning.

Brass fanned himself with his notebook with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. "Wow. Must be menopause."

The look Grissom shot him was priceless, one part vast confusion, one part total incredulity.

Brass just shrugged. "That was one hell of a hot flash."

Grissom looked at him blankly, a bit chagrined at being so blatant at a scene. While there was nothing secretive about his relationship with Sara, both were determined to maintain an air of decorum and absolute professionalism while at work. Obviously, they had just failed miserably.

"Go on," Brass told him gently. "We can finish this later."

Grissom nodded his thanks and walked gingerly his Denali, motioning with a small twitch of his left hand for Sara to join him. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him favoring his left knee, making a mental note to ask him if he was merely tired or if something more significant was going on. She met him at the rear of the truck, stowed her kit and slammed the hatch before turning to face him. For several long, timeless moments, they just looked, absorbing the sight of the other after such a long separation.

Grissom broke the spell with a smirk. "I assume you'd like to drive?"

Sara grinned, more than willing to indulge in a little saucy innuendo. "Oh, yeah," she drawled, "big time. And I'm going to go slow, _very_ slow. I want to savor every moment."

Grissom bit back a smile, delighted with their banter. He handed her the keys and was preparing to move to the passenger side of the truck when he paused, trembled a single finger down the silky skin of her cheek and whispered, "I missed you."

Sara's throat tightened, awash with emotion from that one tiny touch. Before he could move, she grabbed him, twined her long elegant arms around his sturdy neck and pulled him to her. He resisted for just an instant, aware that they were stomping heedlessly all over the lines they had drawn for themselves, but the need to feel her, to touch her, was overpowering. He returned the embrace, wrapping his arms firmly about her waist to hold her tighter. She nuzzled his neck in appreciation of his secure grip and her nostrils flared as she detected the potent aroma of something primitive and bestial lurking beneath the unfamiliar perfume of hotel soap and laundromat soap powder.

Grissom was aroused, very aroused. The essence of pure desire, absolute lust, was rolling off of him in waves. Sara's body awakened instantly to the relentless and unexpected onslaught of pheromones, excitement spiraling downward to nest heavily between her thighs. She could feel her panties grow damp as her hunger for the man in her arms grew with every panting breath. He felt her shudder and reluctantly pulled away, swatting her playfully on the ass as he removed his arms.

"Come on. We have to get to work," he sighed.

The drive back to the lab was quiet, neither particularly interested in talking. Grissom had engulfed Sara's right hand in his as soon as she had the truck in gear and was lazily swiping his thumb across her knuckles as she drove. Maneuvering the large vehicle one-handed was a bit of a challenge, but Sara was unwilling to shatter the renewed physical bond. It was a small gesture on his part, this simple handholding, but it spoke volumes to Sara. He really had missed her.

She cleared her throat and broke the comfortable silence. "How come you didn't tell me you were coming home today?"

"I didn't know myself until this morning." He ducked his head shyly, the child within peeking out for a moment. "I wanted to surprise you," he said timidly.

She glanced at him and shot him a high-wattage, mega volt smile. "It's the best surprise I've had in a long, long time," she told him, watching the corners of his mouth lift with boyish pleasure. On the outside he was a supremely confident and, at this particular moment, exceedingly horny man. Yet on the inside he was still very much a hesitant five-year-old who wanted nothing more than to make her happy. Sara was still occasionally startled by the vast dichotomy between public and private Grissom and supremely thankful that he trusted and loved her so much that he was willing to share the frightened, abused child that still hid within his soul. He was, and always would be, her very precious man-child.

She pulled into the parking lot at the lab and awkwardly cut the ignition with her left hand. As Grissom attempted to disentangle their fingers and unsnap his seat belt, Sara grasped his hand tighter and leaned towards him, fitting her lips to his. She had meant for the kiss to be a simple peck but when Grissom was unable to stifle a small growl that grumbled helplessly from the back of his throat, she grabbed those newly grown curls on his neck and increased the pressure, desperately striving to get closer. His mouth opened and Sara gratefully accepted the invitation to slip inside for a more thorough exploration. Time seemed to stand still while their tongues tangled furiously and smeared sacred promises of more, much more.

They were both breathing heavily and a little flushed when Grissom shifted away. "Umm…," he began, his voice a little strained. "Work?"

"Yeah, if we have to," she grumbled.

The Graveyard Shift was assembled in the conference room, each member waiting impatiently with a pile of folders and evidence bags. Catherine was pacing nervously, certain that she was about to be fired while the rest fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats. They all looked up in shock as Grissom lumbered through the door carrying a cup of coffee and handful of files.

"Finally," Greg muttered to Nick, glancing around to make sure Catherine was not listening.

"Yeah," replied Nick, equally softly. "God is in His heaven and all is right with the world."

Grissom took his seat next to Sara and was beginning to speak when Catherine spoke up.

"Well, well, well, the prodigal returneth. And with a nice tan, too. Did you enjoy your extended boondoggle while the rest of us were here working our fingers to the bone?" she snipped.

Grissom ignored her and got down to business. "Okay, what do we have? Just give me the _Reader's Digest_ version for now. I will go over all of the details myself once I have a better understanding of what has been happening."

The team took turns piecing together the events that had the city up in arms. Over the past nine days there had been three kidnappings, three arsons and two murders. If they did not come up with something, anything, quickly, the third body, that of Judge Simmons, would appear sometime tomorrow. They had no real leads, nothing probative evidence-wise except for the coffee cup with Cephas' DNA.

"Cephas?" Grissom asked. "Who's Cephas?"

"Officer J. J. Cephas," supplied Warrick. "He's some new hot shot cop. Been working with Brass a lot lately. Brass is supposed to confront him with the DNA evidence when he comes on duty tonight."

Grissom nodded and motioned for them to continue their story. All three victims had been taken from public venues and they did not have any apparent connection to the other. The first victim, Dr. Jonas Garrish, was a philosophy professor and WLVU. The second, Reverend Michael Hubbell, was an Episcopalian minister. The third was Judge Simmons. All of the fires had been set in the victim's offices. Notes from the killer were found at each and every scene, a total of eight thus far. The perp seemed to be highly intelligent, brazen and enjoying himself far too much.

The conversation died down and Grissom looked around the room, his eyebrows raised. "That's it?"

"You asked for the condensed version and that's what you got," replied Catherine.

"Fine," he said. "Thank you." He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before continuing. "Catherine, Warrick, Greg, Nick? I want you all to get lost. Go home, get some sleep, have a decent meal, relax a little. Unless something major breaks I don't want to see your faces again until the start of shift." He scooped up his files and headed for the door as the others scrambled to collect their things and leave before something happened to change his mind.

Sara took her time. She hadn't been told to leave. Greg sidled over to whisper conspiratorially, "I see that you weren't sent home. Does that mean that Papa Bear and Mama Bear will be taking their time off together to practice making little baby bears?" A lascivious wiggle of eyebrows accompanied his remark.

Sara just smiled serenely, not giving an inch.

Greg, however, was not quite ready to let the topic fade. "Sara, I gotta know. What's Grissom got that I don't?"

She pretended to think, one long finger tapping against her lip, as she let Greg's discomfort grow. "Remember Greg, I've seen you naked," she drawled, pausing for a long delicious moment. "Let's just say that you're not even half the man that Grissom is."

Greg's eyes widened as the realization of what she was saying slowing seeped into his brain. "Hey," he spluttered helplessly, "you can't count that as a true measure of things. That water was cold!"

"Go home, Greg," she laughed and sauntered off down the hall, thinking that Greg would absolutely die if he ever discovered the truth. He would never hear the words cross her lips, she would never betray Grissom like that but it would almost be worth it just to see Greg's reaction. She flashed back to Grissom's heart breaking revelation, one that had occurred a scant couple of months ago and one that, despite the intense emotional turmoil it had caused, had finally freed Grissom and given him the added courage he so desperately needed to move forward a little more and let another chapter of his painful past finally die….

_After another intimate encounter where she had once again fallen victim to Grissom's total adoration of her body, Sara lay basking in the sweet aftermath, utterly replete and blissfully satisfied. She was sprawled atop Grissom's bare chest, absently caressing the warm skin over his heart while nuzzling the salty tang of his neck. She knew that she should be at peace; he had just rocked her world four times and she barely had the strength to lift her head. However, despite the sensual joys they had just shared, Sara was troubled._

"_Gris?"_

"_Hmmm?" His response was as lazy as the fluttering swipes of his fingers down her spine._

"_Are you saving yourself for marriage?"_

_Sara had tried to keep her tone light and joking but felt his entire body stiffen. His jaw worked frantically as he attempted to formulate some type of appropriate response. When none was immediately forthcoming, Sara took a deep breath and plunged on into the deep, turbulent water._

"_I'm just curious…what are you waiting for? Do you need an engraved invitation?"_

_Grissom's hand fell to the mattress with a soft thud and he sighed heavily. He had known this moment would come, sooner or later, and had no idea how to handle the situation. Sara rose up to straddle his waist and look him in the eye._

"_Why won't you make love to me?"_

_She grimaced as she watched the pain and confusion race across his features. His tone was quiet, voice carefully controlled, when he finally spoke. "I thought I was. Am I doing something wrong?"_

_Sara heard the apprehension and self-doubt creep into his words despite his efforts to squelch them, and hastened to salve his seemingly bruised male ego. "No, no, Grissom. You are doing everything just right. Trust me. I am a very, very happy woman right now," she cooed._

"_But..." he warily prompted, knowing that she had much more to say and not really wanting to broach the subject._

"_But...I'm just wondering when you're going to get around to officially consummating things. You haven't let me touch you since the first time and you won't even let me see you naked any more. What's the problem?"_

_Grissom chewed his bottom lip uncertainly and closed his eyes. There is no way he could even begin to embark upon this conversation if he had to look at her. "Nothing. There's no...problem."_

"_Then what's going on, Gris? Is it me?"_

_Grissom gently extracted himself from the loving tangle of her long, satiny limbs and rolled to sit on the edge of the bed with his head bowed and shoulders slumped miserably. "It's not you, Sara. Never think that."_

"_Well, if it isn't me..."_

"_It's not that, either," he hurriedly retorted._

"_Okay," Sara began, seamlessly slipping into full investigator mode, "it's not me and has nothing to do with you being physically incapable or incapacitated. I'm more than ready and, from what I've seen and felt, you're very interested as well. Am I right?"_

_Grissom slowly nodded in agreement._

"_Grissom?" she gently prodded._

"_You're the first..." he started hesitantly. He was unsure as to how he should continue. He had never attempted to tell anyone before, had never been in a position where he had to tell anyone before. He had never, ever, been in this particular place in his entire life. Sara certainly deserved an answer but he just did not know how to tell her._

_Sara made a soft sound of encouragement, willing him to continue. She knew without a doubt that something huge was about to happen._

_Eyes still firmly fixed on the floor, Grissom tried again. "You're the first woman...who ever let me…touch her...like that...the first woman...who ever wanted me to…touch her...like that," he stammered helplessly, blushing brighter with every word._

_Sara was genuinely perplexed. "What are you trying to tell me here?"_

_There was nothing left for him to do but just spit out the awful truth and deal with whatever amount of ridicule Sara saw fit to toss his way. He would not blame her or think unkindly of her. Hell, he was certain that if their roles were reversed, he would probably let loose with a snicker or two of his own. "I can't because I don't know how," he finally said, his quietly uttered admission filled with sorrow and shame._

"_What do you mean, you don't know how?" Sara cried, completely confused. "It's a basic biological imperative, Grissom. You put the round peg in the round hole and push. It's not that complicated."_

"_You don't understand!" His voice cracked with pain and frustration. "I've never..." _

_His words trailed off into nothingness and the ensuing silence thundered in the awesome hush that had quickly shrouded the room like a sodden wool blanket. Sara was too stunned to speak. Of all the myriad of things Grissom could have said, his revelation was totally unexpected. The man was fifty-years-old and still a virgin? Wow! If he had confessed that he was a closet, cross-dressing transvestite complete with fishnet stockings, falsies, pasties, and banging Ecklie on the side she would have been less shocked. A virgin. A supremely hot, sinfully sexy, fifty-year-old virgin. Wow!_

_As the unbelievable truth slowly began to sink in, Sara finally looked at Grissom. He was still sitting hunched on the edge of the bed and she could see the tension literally pulsating along his slumped spine. She knew that he was waiting for some sort of reaction and had steeled himself against an impending rejection. He fully expected for her to leap out of their bed and run for the door now that she knew one of his deepest, darkest secrets. Sara's mind was racing as she searched for some way to diffuse the delicate situation. She was dealing with much, much more than a straightforward case of injured male pride._

_She slowly eased over to him and leaned upon his back, her arms sliding around his chest in a firm, loving grip. She craned her neck to quietly whisper in his ear, "Those other women, whoever they are, are idiots. They have no idea what they missed out on." She received no discernible response but continued her words of comfort. "Grissom? I have never, ever, had a more gentle or considerate lover. You're doing just fine, baby. What are you so afraid of?"_

_Grissom just shook his head, unable to speak. Something he had said earlier, about never getting this far with a woman, was tickling her brain. Her curiosity was piqued and she had to ask. Besides, it might make him open up a little and make this whole conversation easier for him to handle._

"_Gris? You said that you've never touched a woman intimately before. How did you know what to do with me?"_

"_I...research. I wanted to know...in case…you were ever...interested...in doing...things...like that...with me. And...you showed me."_

"_Has anyone else ever touched you?"_

"_Besides me?" he choked out, thoroughly ashamed and humiliated. He shook his head, wishing he could disappear into the floorboards._

"_Did you enjoy it when I touched you? Did it feel good when I made you come?"_

_He shivered a little at the memory of her cool fingers and hot mouth sliding along his erection and dumbly nodded his answer._

"_Do you enjoy touching me?" She received another emphatic nod. "I love it when you touch me, Grissom," she all but purred, "and I love touching you as well. I want to touch you, baby. Can you understand that? I want to touch you just as much as you want to touch me. I want to make you feel as wonderful and as beautiful and as loved as you make me feel."_

"_I...I..."_

"_What, baby? What's wrong? You've gotta talk to me, Gris."_

"_I...I'm fine until...we get to that point. Then..."_

_Sara released her arms from around his chest and started rubbing his back, her hand swirling in soothing, calming circles._

"_Sara, you barely touched me and I lost it. There's no way I can...last."_

"_So what? You fire early a couple of times. What's the big deal?"_

_His tortured sigh was full of anguish and torment. "I don't want to disappoint you. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be a great, or even decent, lover. You deserve so much more than that. I should at least have enough control to...satisfy you. All my life, Sara, I have never been enough. I have always turned out to be a huge disappointment and everyone has always left me. I don't want to be alone anymore. I can't..."_

_Tears slid down Sara's cheeks as she listened to Grissom's lonely confession. Those frightened, whispered words explained so much. She did not need the details, did not want to know the details. She could not arrest time to right the wrongs and bitch slap those who had shattered his fragile heart. All she could do was love him and try to convince him that something as insignificant as a perceived failure in bed was not going to make her leave._

"_Grissom, listen to me. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, baby. You're not going to get rid of me that easily. C'mere."_

_Sara gently maneuvered Grissom back into bed and into her welcoming embrace. She nestled his head between her breasts, absorbing his silent tears with her skin, her heart, her soul. She held him close, gently raking her fingers through his hair, before breaking the fragile silence and carefully speaking again._

"_As far as all of this is concerned, you just need to get used to the feel of my hands instead of yours. Truth be told, the emotional connection, the care and selflessness you show when we make love, means so much more to me than just the physical gratification. Don't get me wrong the orgasms are wonderful. You make me feel things I've never felt before and I wouldn't trade a minute of rolling around in bed with you for anything in the world. The rest of it? It's so not a big deal and I'm in no hurry. It'll happen, baby, all in good time."_

"_Sara? Too."_

**TO BE CONTINUED...**_  
_


	6. Chapter Five

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **" The disappointed one speaks. I searched for great human beings; I always found only the apes of their ideals."** _The Twilight of the Idols -_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Five**

**There Was Set Before Me A Mighty Hill**

There was set before me a mighty hill,

And long days I climbed

Through regions of snow.

When I had before me the summit-view,

It seemed that my labor

Had been to see gardens

Lying at impossible distances.

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'Grapes are not harvested from thorns, nor are figs gathered from thistles, for they do not produce fruit. A good man brings forth good from his storehouse; an evil man brings forth evil things from his storehouse, which is in his heart, and says evil things. For out of the abundance of his heart he brings forth evil things.' "

**The Gospel of Thomas (45)**

_How the mighty have fallen. First your God, now your false idols. I have slain your prothlesizers, those who educate in ancient texts and dusty words no longer applicable to the new world I have created. I have beheaded your false prophets, those to frightened to accept that He was dead and that His words no longer have meaning. I have crucified your judges, those who deign to pass sentence on those striving to overcome a doomed and wretched society. I have destroyed all that you held close to your heart and still you do not see. _

_You have turned instead to graven idols, blasphemous images of self-vanity and misplaced pride. You seek meaning in outer flesh alone, never unveiling the tortured, pus-filled soul that pulses with a rancid stench that festers just below the gold-burnished surface. I stand before you, my shimmering vestments frighteningly perfect in all of its vast imperfections, and still you do not see. _

_They will die, these graven idols, just as your Gods and holy icons have died before them. I will annihilate all that you trust, all that you love, so that you may see. I have the one pure soul. I am the One. I am the Way. I am your only salvation._

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

"Okay, Officer Cephas. This is an informal session, we are just having a little conversation here, but you still have the right to have your Union Rep present," began Brass, pausing to click on a tape recorder. "We found something at the latest kidnapping scene that I want to run past you."

Brass and Cephas were in an interrogation room and Grissom and Sara were watching from behind the two-way glass. Cephas leaned back in his chair, hands resting on his firm abdomen, seemingly unconcerned about the proceedings. He was dressed casually as he had been called in on his night off and it was fairly obvious that he had been planning a night on the town. He was wearing a form-fitting foam green polo shirt that set off his deep tan and restless emerald eyes to perfection and a pair of faded Levis that looked as if they had been painted on. He wore a large gold crucifix on a thick serpentine chain. He absently fiddled with the religious icon as Brass continued to establish the ground rules of the chat.

Sara had given J. J. a thoroughly appreciative once-over when he entered the room, earning her a raised eyebrow from Grissom as he took a sip of his coffee. "Guess he wants everyone to know that he's been circumcised," was her only comment. Grissom nearly choked, hastily wiping his chin with the back of his hand as the coffee trickled into his beard. She shot him a mischievous grin before they both returned their attention to the interview.

"I'm just going to cut right to the chase here." Brass was not interested in beating around the bush. He wanted to get this over and done with so that he could return his attention to the missing Judge. "CSI Sidle found a coffee cup near the spot where Judge Simmons was last seen right before she was kidnapped. The DNA along the rim of the cup belongs to you. Care to explain?"

Cephas scrunched his face in confusion. "You've got to be kidding me. Come on, Jimbo."

Outside the room Grissom and Sara shared a humorous look while silently mouthing "Jimbo?" to each other. Cephas certainly had a set of balls on him. Inside, Brass wore a pained expression on his face. "Uh, J. J.? Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, calls me 'Jimbo'. We clear on that?"

"Oh! Sorry, Captain," Cephas said, startled at the rebuke. "But, like I was saying, we are in and out of that courthouse all of the time. I could have dropped that coffee cup or kicked it out of my patrol car weeks ago. I had nothing to do with this other than in an official capacity."

"Official capacity?"

"Yeah, investigating the scene, working my ass off to come up with the evidence we need to get this perp off the street. If I did not drop that cup by accident then somebody is trying to set me up."

"Who would want to frame you for something like this? You have a lot of enemies?"

"Besides the thousands of criminals I have taken off the street? No, I don't have any enemies. I am a really popular guy. Just ask any of the girls at the station. They all love me."

Sara just shook her head in disbelief. "Wow. This guy takes arrogance to a whole new level. He was actually pretty hot until he opened his mouth and shot himself in the foot."

"You think he's hot?" Grissom asked, not fully believing that he had just uttered that statement.

"Well, yeah," she began, "if you are just looking at the outside. He's eye candy."

"Eye candy?"

"You know, easy to look at. But then he talks and reveals just how big a jerk he is. Grissom, the guy's a pig."

"Oh, okay," he replied, not really sure he fully understood what she was saying but willing to accept her explanation at face value. He was not feeling insecure, just trying to figure out how someone so hot could turn so cold so quickly. He cleared his throat. "Am I more attractive when I speak or remain silent?"

Sara was amused by the question. Grissom usually did not ask things like that. "You, babe, are the total package. I'm not sure if you are aware of it or not, but you turn heads every time you walk down the hall. There's just something about you, whether you are talking or not, that makes people pay attention. And when you do speak...? Well, let's just say that it definitely increases your marketability."

Grissom flushed with pleasure, the tips of his ears burning brightly as he offered Sara a shy smile.

Inside the interview room, Cephas continued to assert his innocence. "Hey, I heard Grissom's back. Is that right?"

Brass nodded, his patience starting to wear thin. Talking to J. J. was tiresome and he had about reached the limit of tolerance for the other man's horn blowing.

"He's the man, isn't he? The big CSI stud? Well, get him working on this. Better yet, I'll talk to him myself and tell him to get busy proving that I didn't do this. Clearing me should be his top priority."

"Really," Brass drawled, knowing full well that Grissom was listening to every word. "I'll be sure to tell him that."

"Excuse me, Dr. Grissom?"

Grissom turned away from the blustering Cephas and found Jimmy Matthews clutching a CD.

"Here are the 911 tapes of the arson calls from the courthouse. I thought you'd want them as soon as possible," Jimmy said, presenting the disc to Grissom with a flourish. At that moment, Jimmy's sense of self-importance was only exceeded by that of the officer on the other side of the glass.

"Thank you, Jimmy," Grissom replied politely, reigning in the residual annoyance he felt from J. J.'s last words.

Jimmy turned to observe the conversation between Brass and Cephas.

"He's an ass, you know," spat Jimmy venomously.

Sara was taken aback by the loathing present in his tone. Jimmy was usually very reserved and polite. She had never heard him speak unkindly towards anyone else. "Who? Brass?"

"No, not Captain Brass, Miss Sidle. Officer Cephas. He is a Class A jerk."

"Why do you think that? Did he do something to you?"

Grissom watched the exchange, dividing his attention between Sara and Jimmy and what was going on behind the glass.

"Not recently, no, well, not really," began Jimmy. "We went to high school together. He was one of those idiotic egotistical athletes who thought they were the answer to every girl's dream; a typical BMOC who thought more highly of himself than he should have."

"So, I take it you two weren't friends."

"Far from it. I fell into the group of guys targeted for bullying by Cephas and his pals. The only time he ever noticed me, when he wasn't terrorizing me, of course, was when he needed help with his homework. Then we were best buddies." Jimmy's voice was filled with bitterness as he recalled his high school experiences.

Sara would have questioned him further but Brass and Cephas chose that moment to exit the interrogation room. Jimmy scurried from the hall like a frightened rabbit and Cephas just smiled with satisfaction as he watched Matthews' hasty departure.

Cephas looked from Grissom to Sara. He shifted, turning his back on Grissom in blatant dismissal and smoothly addressed Sara. "Hey there beautiful. What do you say you and I go get a drink? I know this private little place where we can kick back a little and just get to know each other, if you know what I mean."

Grissom rolled his eyes and moved to stand with Brass, both men watching the scene with amusement. Poor Officer Cephas was about to go down in flames like a Zero in the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot.

"I'm sorry, Officer..." Sara began, crossing her arms in front of her chest to discourage Cephas' roving gaze.

"It's J. J.," he interjected smoothly.

"J. J.," she corrected. "I'm involved with someone already. I'm really not interested."

"Oh, come on, doll face. He doesn't have to know. What is one little drink going to hurt? Come on, let's go out, have a drink, do a little dancing, see what happens. Who knows? You'll probably like me better than him." Cephas shrugged modestly. "Most women do."

Sara's hands moved to her waist as her eyes flashed dangerously. The nerve of this asshole! Who the hell did he think he was? "I'm not most women and the chances of me liking you better are slim to none. Besides, my _lover_," she continued angrily, adding extra emphasis to the term, "already knows you asked me out. He's standing right there." See arched an eyebrow at Grissom. "You coming?"

Grissom flashed Cephas a triumphant grin before shuffling off after Sara.

Cephas turned to Brass. "She's kidding, right? She's seeing that gimpy old dude?"

"She's not kidding and she's doing a whole lot more than seeing, if you catch my drift. Trust me, she's not interested in you or anyone else." Brass started to leave but turned for one parting shot. "Oh, that gimpy old dude? That's Grissom."

Cephas' eyes widened and his tanned skin blanched a ghostly shade of grayish-green. He was seriously screwed and had nobody to blame but himself.

"You're not jealous?" Sara asked as they made their way back to the lab.

"Nope."

"Why not? That guy was totally coming on to me, trying to get me to cheat on you."

"He was."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

Grissom merely shook his head. "Sara, you are a very beautiful woman. Men are always going to look at you, desire you, and wish to claim you as their own. It is a simple fact and one I can neither change nor ignore. However, you have, and always will, follow your heart. Be it fate, destiny or plain old good fortune, I happen to be the lucky man with whom you have chosen to share that amazing aspect of yourself. For that, I will always be exceedingly grateful."

Sara's eyes grew misty. "Gris, that has to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

They walked in silence for a few paces. He bumped her with his shoulder to get her attention. "I like it when you refer to me as your lover," Grissom ventured softly. Sara looked at him as an impish grin crossed his face. Little boy Grissom was about to come out to play. "And you are incredibly beautiful when marking your territory. I would never have guessed that a possessive, chest-thumping cave woman lay lurking beneath your lovely urbane exterior."

"Yeah, well, where you're concerned, babe, I'm always a possessive, chest-thumping cave woman," she retorted saucily, smiling as she bumped back against him. They made their way back to the lab looking like a couple of high school seniors hurrying to their lockers to stow their text books before sneaking off under the bleachers for a quick make out session.

Sara blew out an exhausted breath. "Where do you want to start?"

They were in the layout room, going through the evidence. Grissom did not answer immediately. He was carefully scrutinizing her appearance. He noticed for the first time that she had dark circles under her eyes and was just generally frayed a bit around the edges.

"You're tired," he stated. "I should have sent you home with the others."

"Why didn't you?"

He did not reply and pretended to study the rather gruesome autopsy photo in his hand.

"I wouldn't have gone, you know," she continued quietly.

Grissom raised his eyes to regard her curiously, head cocked to the side, questioning her silently.

"Three reasons," Sara replied. "First, you are going to need some help wading through this stuff," waving a hand to indicate the messy assortment of case files and such strewn haphazardly across the table. "Second, you are just as tired as I am. And third..." She lowered her voice to a near whisper and glanced behind her to make sure that no one was lurking in the hall to overhear what she was about to say. "I'm tired of sleeping alone."

He made a small sound of agreement before turning back to the task at hand. "Let's take things in order, piece by piece, and see what we can come up with."

The first victim of the self-proclaimed Red Lion was Dr. Jonas Garrish, PhD. Originally from Illinois, Dr. Garrish received his undergraduate degree in philosophy from Millikin Univeristy and both his masters and doctorate from the University of Chicago. He was currently the chair of the Philosophy Department and a fully tenured professor at Western LVU. Garrish was married but he and his wife had no children. Cindy Garrish owned and operated a small floral boutique on the strip. While she was categorized as an unrepentant flirt, there were no problems in the marriage. Indeed, the Garrishes were a very happy couple.

He had been kidnapped while returning to his office following an evening business ethics seminar. There were plenty of students in the building, but no viable witnesses. His office had been burned the following day, gasoline used to coat the multitude of books and papers crammed onto wooden shelves. The prevalent theory was that the killer had stashed a couple of spray bottles filled with the common accelerant into an ordinary backpack, blended in with the rest of the student population and slipped into the office unnoticed.

Dr. Garrish had been killed with a single blow to the head. His throat had been cleanly sliced post mortem and his blood drained. Residual adhesive evidence found on his ankles suggested that he had been hanged upside down to bleed out. His hair had been dyed white and face made up to make him appear much older than he actually was.

Reverend Michael Hubbell was an ordained Episcopalian minister from Virginia. He had been serving St. Martin's for the past six years and was well-respected. He was single and the team had been unable to uncover any hint of scandalous behavior in his past. He coached a pee-wee soccer team in his free time and assisted in food drives for the many local homeless shelters.

He had been abducted from the church sanctuary following the close of choir practice. There were no witnesses and none of the church staff or parishioners had noticed anyone or anything out of the ordinary. His church office had burned the next day. Gasoline was again used as an accelerant. The church had been undergoing its yearly pest inspection and treatment the day of the arson so it was assumed that the perpetrator had disguised himself to blend in and pumped the gasoline from a tank similar to those used by the exterminators.

Like Dr. Garrish, Reverend Hubbell's skull had also been crushed, most likely by a single blow from a small sledge hammer. He had been completely decapitated and bore the same adhesive residue about his ankles as Dr. Garrish. No make-up had been applied nor had his hair been dyed.

Both victims had been dumped in the desert, arms outstretched, bodies straight, feet crossed to resemble a crucifixion. Next to each body the team had found a Waterford champagne flute, small earthenware basin and a loofah. The goblets tested positive for blood, the basins and loofahs for urine, both belonging to the respective victims. No prints or epithelials were found on the three items and all were readily available for purchase in any number of venues, both local and on-line.

Dr. Garrish had been abducted on Monday, his office torched on Tuesday and his body found on Wednesday. Reverend Hubbell was taken on Thursday, his office burned on Friday and his corpse dumped on Saturday. The killer had then taken Sunday off before grabbing Judge Simmons on Monday. Her office had been set afire on Tuesday morning and Tuesday was now leeching into Wednesday. Time was waning for Judge Simmons.

Sara stood to stretch and was about to ask Grissom if he wanted a refill on his coffee when the rest of the team wandered in. She looked at the clock on the wall, surprised that so much time had passed. She was also happy to note that Greg and Nick were bearing fresh, steaming mugs for both she and Grissom. A simple sniff told her that Nick remembered that she preferred tea and she gave him a soft smile of gratitude while Greg placed the bitter coffee in front of Grissom.

Grissom was so absorbed in his reading that he hadn't noticed the others arrive until the mug appeared by his right hand. The sudden movement startled him and he blinked around owlishly at his team, before returning his attention to his youngest CSI. "Thank you, Greg," he murmured. "That was very thoughtful."

"And it's the good stuff, too. I figured we could all benefit from the secret stash tonight," beamed Greg.

Catherine took in the mess with a practiced eye and knew that the resident workaholics had been very busy. "Did you two make any progress?"

"Maybe," said Sara. "We did not magically uncover anything new and probative but I think Gris has a few ideas about what is going on in the killer's head."

Warrick looked impressed. "Do tell, boss. We could use a little quirky guidance here."

Grissom shot him a good natured glare before offering an explanation. "The victims are random in that they were not taken for who they are so much as what they are. Our Red Lion seems to have serious problems with certain facets of religion and society and has chosen the three victims as representative of all that he either detests or those in which he no longer has faith."

Before he could go into any detail, Nick broke into the conversation. "Did you figure out what the trinkets meant?"

"Trinkets? What trinkets? Nobody mentioned those earlier."

Sara spoke up. "We were just getting to those." She handed Grissom a list of the items that had been found at the kidnapping and desert scenes.

Grissom scanned the list and looked up with a gleam in his eye. "Well, if I am understanding this correctly, these items have nothing to do with the victims and everything to do with the killer. What is Officer Cephas' full name?"

"I'm not sure. Brass just introduced him as J. J. I'm not sure his full name was ever mentioned," said Catherine. "Want me to call Personnel and track it down?"

"Please."

Catherine had a quick conversation with personnel. As she closed her phone she announced, "His full name is John James Cephas. Does that mean something to you?"

Grissom started flipping through notes in a frenzy, muttering "It can't be this easy."

"What can't be this easy?" ventured Greg.

"First victim, Dr. Garrish: an eagle pendant was found at the scene of his kidnapping and a pewter chalice was found with his body. Reverend Hubbell: a fishing pole was left in the church and a fishing lure was placed on his body. There was a rock left on Judge Simmon's trunk."

"Yeah, we know all of that," grumbled Warrick. "What we don't know is what they mean."

"Well, when taken out of context like this, they mean nothing. Put them together and you get John James Cephas."

"What?" The others were stunned.

"I told you that our killer has a background in religion. Just hear me out. The first victim is supposed to be Saint John the Evangelist. He was one of the original twelve disciples of Christ. He is represented in early Christian art with an eagle for the eagle is supposed to signify the heights to which John rose in the first book of his gospel. In later art, around the thirteenth century or so, he was shown with the eagle and a chalice. There are two explanations for the chalice. One seems to be words spoken to him by Christ in the Book of Matthew, 'My chalice indeed shall you drink'. The other has to do with a legend that when presented with a chalice of poisoned wine, James blessed the cup and the poison rose in the shape of a serpent. One other thing. Look at the autopsy photos. Saint John died of old age. That may be the explanation for the theatrical make-up Doc Robbins noted in his report."

"The second victim is a representation of Saint James the Greater. James and John were brothers and Christ called the brothers the 'Boanerges', which means 'sons of thunder'. A fishing pole and fishing lure were found with Reverend Hubbell. James, who was also one of the original twelve disciples, was called by Christ to be a 'fisher of men'. If I remember correctly, I believe that James was beheaded by Herod Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great. Reverend Hubbell was decapitated as well, correct?"

The team nodded in agreement, fascinated by what they were hearing. Grissom was on a roll.

"Judge Simmons?" prodded Greg, curious to see how the boss was going to tie everything together.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up here for a minute," Warrick interrupted. "You said that James and John were called the "sons of thunder", right?" Grissom nodded. "Is that why this sick bastard crushes their skulls with a sledge hammer?"

"Probably. We'll come back to that when we get to the notes left at the scenes." Grissom paused to swallow some coffee. "Judge Simmons. The rock Sara found on the trunk of her car stands for Saint Peter, Prince of the Apostles."

"Okay, I understand where you are going with this," said Nick. "I know that Peter was the rock that the church was built on and all that. How does that relate to Cephas?"

"Ah," said Grissom. "Cephas in Syriac means rock. It was the name given to the disciple Simon by Christ in the _Gospel of John_, Chapter 1, Verse 42. 'And he brought him to Jesus. And Jesus looking upon him, said: Thou art Simon the son of Jona. Thou shalt be called Cephas, which is interpreted Peter.' Thus Simon evolved into Peter. And, in our case, it is how Officer J. J. Cephas came to be a rock found on the trunk of a car."

Catherine picked up her cell and hit a single key to activate speed dial. "I'll call Brass and tell him to find Cephas. You and Sara need to go get some rest."

Grissom shook his head. "Sara is free to go but I still need to go over those eight notes."

"Later, Gil," said Catherine, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Go home for a couple of hours. The notes will be here when you get back."

Grissom glanced at Sara and the open, hungry look she tossed at him ended the argument. "Fine, Catherine, we'll go. But I want a call as soon as anything, no matter how seemingly insignificant, turns up." He and Sara gathered their belongings and headed out, going home for a few hours of well-deserved rest.

They should have been sleeping, but were not. They knew that Brass would call soon to inform them that Judge Simmons' desecrated body had been found somewhere in the lonely desert. They were functioning on nothing more than coffee dregs and adrenaline but the longing, the absolute need flowing between them was as overpowering as a violent spring thunderstorm and neither could possibly resist the flash of desire currently flooding their senses. The instant they crossed the threshold of their home, Grissom enfolded Sara in a bone crushing hug. She willingly followed his lead, molding her lean frame as tightly to his as possible as he leaned back against the door to better accept the light burden of her body. For a long time they merely held each other, savoring the closeness, reigniting the undeniable connection.

Grissom tilted his head forward from where it had been resting against the closed wooden portal and began brushing his lips against hers, his soft bristling whiskers tickling her eager mouth like the wispy flutter of butterfly wings. Sara moved her hand to the back of his head to hold him in place while she frantically sought to deepen his kisses. Despite the growing hunger they shared to touch and be touched, they took their time, tongues swirling, tangling, dancing excitedly in an erotic tango of joyous homecoming.

Sara's patience dissolved in the swirling mist of arousal flowing between their heated bodies and nipping, suckling mouths. She grabbed Grissom's hand to lead him off to the bedroom, stumbling in her haste as she tried valiantly to retain the delicious suction between them. Clothes fell to the floor in a haphazard pile. Sara nearly shredded Grissom's shirt in her haste to feel his skin, fumbling with his buckle before finally lowering his slacks and boxers. She dimly noticed that he was wearing an elastic support around his left knee but any thought of questioning him faded swiftly as his fingers began roaming over her flesh. Grissom took his time stripping Sara, carefully unwrapping her like a long overdue Christmas package. She never failed to be humbled by the child-like delight in his eyes as he slowly revealed her supple nudity. It was as if every time he gazed upon her was the very first, a brand new adventure to inscribe upon their hearts as opposed to merely rereading the same old tired, dog-eared novel.

They fell into bed in a sensual tangle of limbs. His touch, a murmuring stutter upon her flesh, spread seductive rumors of love across her quivering torso as his lips sang sinfully sweet secrets upon her breasts. Sara was held captive by his rapt attentiveness and could only writhe helplessly in the wake of his single-minded onslaught. He had learned how to pleasure her and used that knowledge to render her completely helpless. She wanted to touch him but her arms refused to obey. She was his hopeless prisoner, gladly surrendering to his every passionate whim, moaning and panting her pleasure as she spiraled towards her release.

Grissom was nuzzling her neck, soothing her, as she slowly regained an awareness of her surroundings. As Grissom's confidence in his love-making skills grew with every intimate moment they shared, his fears of disappointing Sara began to dissolve and his staying power increased. Sara was delighted to find him still erect and rolled on her side, grabbing and fumbling at him to do the same so that they were facing each other in the muted light of the breaking day. His shaft slid easily between her thighs and she closed her legs greedily around him, locking him in place, delighted by the wonder she saw swirling in his eyes. This was the first time their most private parts had ever touched and Grissom swallowed heavily, engrossed in the sensations, the texture, the overpowering heat and moisture seeping over his eager cock. Sara rocked her hips back and forth, bringing their hips tightly together before retreating and kissing together again.

She moved faster, desperate for the delightful friction of his erection plowing through her cleft to bump along her swollen and ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves. Grissom found her rhythm and began to haltingly thrust his pelvis to meet her. He quickly lost control and placed a trembling hand on her shapley ass to hold her in place as his movements sped up. They ground together furiously, wildly, craving the delicious pressure, straining for more. Higher and higher the tension built until Sara finally exploded with a hoarse shout of triumph. Grissom's own release was just as powerful, but silent. He was breathing heavily as he pulled Sara close and pressed grateful pecks along her open mouth.

For a long time, they simply rested, reveling in the awe-inspiring sensations they had just shared. As a veil of peacefulness covered them as securely as the fluffy comforter, Sara remembered something. Grissom had some explaining to do.

"You've been keeping things from me again, haven't you?" she lightly accused.

She felt his bewilderment as he tried to look at her. She kept her head buried in his chest as she continued. "What's with the brace on your knee? You didn't tell me that you were having problems."

"Oh, that," he said dismissively. "I had to do a lot of hiking and needed the extra support."

"You sure that's all there is to it?"

"Yup."

"Do you need to schedule an appointment to see your orthopedist?"

"I'm fine, Sara, go to sleep. You're spoiling my afterglow."

Sara snorted a laugh and snuggled back down, letting the strong, steady beat of his heart rhythmically rock her into slumber. Grissom pulled her closer, wrapping his arms about her possessively, protectively, as he, too, slipped off to sleep, marveling at the contentment and completeness that only Sara could provide.

**_The Gospel of Matthew_ 20:23 **

_**Once, we were dreamers on the rise**_

_**We were the sun where the sun never shines**_

_**And we were gold where the night bird only flies**_

_**Ah, that's a long time you know for that kind of wind to blow**_

_**Long time ago we were dreamers on the rise**_

**To Be Continued...**


	7. Chapter Six

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **"To men I am still the mean between a fool and a corpse."**_Also Sprach Zarathustra -_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Six**

**A Man Saw A Ball Of Gold In The Sky**

A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;

He climbed for it,

And eventually he achieved it -

It was clay.

Now this is the strange part:

When the man went to the earth

And looked again;

Lo, there was a ball of gold.

Now this is the strange part:

It was a ball of gold.

Ay, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'Recognize what is in your sight, and that which is hidden from you will become plain to you. For there is nothing hidden which will not become manifest'."

**The Gospel of Thomas (5)**

_You were forewarned, you pestilent worm. I showed you all that I could do, all that was in my power. Tremble before me, you lowly sycophant. You have drained your last ounce of life from my earth; you shall bespoil mine eyes no longer. On your knees, you mongrel, beg for a morsel, a scant crumb from my bountiful table. Crawl before me and lick my feet, you worthless cur. Your world, your hollow world of vanity and self-adoration has vanished in a puff of my vengeful disdain. I have become, I have overcome. _

_Cower, foul beast. You shall be my highest triumph. All I have done and all that remains fall upon your shoulders. You showed me the way though you know not what you have done. You, in your ignorance and blindness, saw not what you were creating by your indifference. Mine shall be the most sublime revenge, the tenderest of horrors as I watch the light fade from your eyes and blood dampen the dust. You cannot escape. Your fate is sealed. I have become, I have overcome._

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

"Grissom." His voice was a deep growl, heavy with sleep and spent passion. A warm hand slid across his stomach, toying with the silken trail of fur leading from his belly button to far more impressive sights safely hidden beneath the blankets. He placed his hand over hers to still her roaming fingers while listening distractedly to the voice leaking from his phone.

"Forty-five minutes. Don't start without me," he grumbled sternly before ending the call.

He closed his cell, tossed it back on the nightstand and, before Sara fully realized that he was even moving, pounced. She suddenly found herself trapped beneath a very solid mass of warm, wholly masculine, Grissom. Oh, yes, his confidence as a lover was definitely growing. This new, playfully aggressive side of his personality bubbling to the surface was an incredible turn on and Sara felt her thighs growing damp with renewed sparks of arousal. Soon, very soon. Their time was rapidly approaching.

His large hands cradled her head as he brushed back her wildly disheveled hair and caressed her lips with sweetly chaste kisses. "That was Brass. We have to go."

"Judge Simmons?" Her voice was muffled, hidden beneath his adoring mouth.

"Mmmhmm," he mumbled, his beard tickling as he slid down her jaw to explore the tender skin of her neck. "An anonymous caller phoned in the location to 911."

Sara released a soft moan of pleasure. "Desert?"

"Yup." He reluctantly released the succulent flesh of her slender throat, rolled from the bed and headed towards the bathroom. Sara lingered, admiring the view.

"Hey Gris, where'd those scars come from?" she suddenly asked, curious about the smooth, white, pencil-thin scars marring his buttocks and upper thighs. She had first noticed the faded blemishes while caring for him after the accident but had never thought to ask how he had acquired them.

"What scars?"

"The ones on your butt and the backs of your thighs."

He twisted his torso in an attempt to see his rear end. "I wasn't aware that I had scars back there."

"None of your various lady friends over the years ever mentioned them?"

"Sara," he softly chided, shaking his head in gentle exasperation. "Aside from you and various health care professionals, my mother is the only other woman who has ever seen my naked tush." He paused, a wave of sadness breaking softly over his features. "As for the scars, they are probably from my father. Sometimes he spanked me so hard that the belt broke the skin." He shrugged, trying to downplay the significance of both the marks and his admission.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, standing and crossing the room to embrace him gently. "I didn't mean to stir up bad memories."

He accepted her hug and buried his face in her hair. "I came to terms with the abuse years ago. It's just not something I care to discuss."

"If you could go back, would you change it?"

He pulled back slightly and gave her a quizzical look, not fully understanding her question.

"If you could turn back the clock and change things, would you change how your father treated you?

"I might turn back the clock but I doubt that I would change anything."

"Why?"

He sighed, hoping he would not sound as desperate and needy as he felt. "It is all part of what made me the man I am today. If I did change something, I would not be the same man. And, if I weren't the same man, you might not love me. Sara, having your love is worth all of the abuse, disappointment and personal failure I have ever suffered."

Sara's eyes welled with tears and she held him tighter. She knew Grissom loved her, but until that single, solitary moment in time, had not known just how deeply he cared, just how much she meant to him. She had not known that such depth of emotion actually existed outside of smutty, overly-romanticized, bodice-ripping novels featuring impossibly handsome tyrannical heroes and wickedly alluring heroines waiting ever so patiently for the hero to fall hopelessly in love with them and gallop off into some clichéd pastel happily ever after. Sara mulled that thought over in her mind, trying not giggle at the obvious comparison she had just made. Grissom would shit if he knew that she had been mentally comparing their relationship to an overused plot-line from a silly romance novel.

She allowed a soft smile to flit across her generous lips as she snuggled closer. For a small blissful eternity, they simply held each other, reaffirming their feelings, their love, before separating to prepare for their journey into the most lonesome of deserts.

As she gathered her clothes and headed to the bathroom for a lightning quick shower, she could not resist the temptation to question him further. She was still curious about one of his earlier comments. "Gris, if you wouldn't change anything that happened in your life, why would you want to turn back the clock?"

"To give us more time," he answered simply.

Warrick was carefully assembling klieg lights and Nick unpacking the camera equipment when Grissom and Sara arrived at the scene. In the pale, pre-dawn light, the desecrated body of Judge Simmons lay as still and forlorn as a weathered mahogany cross. Her nude, sand-blown body was face down on the barren desert floor, arms outstretched and feet crossed; the crystal champagne flute rested by her right hand, the earthenware basin and loofah by her left. A rock resting at her feet secured the corner of a note rustling in the cool night breeze and cradled two faintly glimmering golden keys.

Grissom simply observed, saying nothing, taking in the portrait of madness the Red Lion had painted.

"What are you thinking," Sara asked softly.

"'And whoever does not want to die of thirst among men must learn to drink out of all cups; and whoever would stay clean among men must know how to wash even with dirty water.' _Also Sprach Zarathustra_," he recited in a strangely melancholy tone.

The three other members of the team looked at each other before Nick sighed. "All right, I'll bite. What does Elvis have to do with all of this?"

"Elvis?" snorted Warrick, biting back a chuckle as Sara tried valiantly to repress a smirk.

"Yeah, Elvis," retorted Nick defensively. "Everyone knows _Also Sprach Zarathustra_ was the music he played before his concerts to make his grand entrance. It was the music from _2001: A Space Odyssey_."

"You are correct, Nick," Grissom began. "However, I was referring to the nineteenth century philosophic text by the same title that was written by Freidrich Nietzsche. The orchestral piece to which you are referring, a symphonic poem inspired by Nietzsche's work, was composed in 1896 by Richard Strauss. The music was indeed used in Stanley Kubrick's _2001: A Space Odyssey_, which was also inspired, at least in part, by Nietzsche's book. And, Elvis was not the only entertainer to incorporate the "Dawn Movement" into his live performances. Professional wrestler Ric Flair uses the same passage when taking to the ring."

"You're kidding, right? Ric Flair?" Nick was having a hard time envisioning Grissom kicked back on the sofa dressed in faded sweatpants and a stained undershirt, beer bottle resting on his belly while watching professional wrestling on television. His mind refused to conjure such a contradictory image of his Shakespeare-quoting, classical music-loving, fastidiously groomed superior.

"Why not?" Grissom shrugged. "Even I occasionally feel the need to indulge in a little willing suspension of disbelief." Fighting a smirk he turned back to the body just as Doc was approaching. He glanced over his shoulder at Nick. "You coming?"

Warrick leaned closer to Sara. "How can you live with that guy? Does he blurt out obscure factoids while you two are getting busy?"

"Actually, he is very quiet and doesn't say much at home, or in bed for that matter." Sara replied thoughtfully.

"Yeah, he saves it all up to torture us," groused Nick. "Come on, let's get to work."

Nick ambled off to join Grissom and the Coroner while Warrick and Sara took the perimeter. As Sara walked off she thought back to what she had revealed to Warrick and Nick. It was true; Grissom was an extraordinarily quiet man within the confines of his own home. He was not necessarily distant or aloof, he just did not say much. She knew that part of the reason lay in the fact that he was raised in a silent household and had lived alone for almost thirty years. She also knew that he had been forced muffle his cries as a child lest his father hear him and beat him even more savagely. What she did not know was why he never uttered a sound while making love.

_Gris..." she ventured one morning, as they lounged quietly on the sofa, basking the simple pleasure of relaxing together. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want, but why are you so quiet in bed?"_

_He flushed bright red, a slow burn that started on his neck and spread through his beard and up his cheeks before finally branding his ears a flaming cherry hue. He blew out a long breath before summoning the courage to respond. "Before you, sex was always, unfortunately, a solitary pursuit. I saw no need to further humiliate or remind myself of that fact by vocalizing my momentary pleasure to an empty room. It was a release, Sara, nothing more."_

"_And now?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Well, you aren't exactly flying solo anymore." _

"_True"_

"_Why are you still so quiet? You don't make a sound."_

"_I don't know," he sighed. "Too repressed...embarrassed, I guess. I don't want you to think I'm some moaning, groaning sex-crazed pervert trying to make up for years of lost time." _

"_Baby, I already know you're a sex-crazed pervert. I just want to hear the moaning and groaning once in awhile. It would be a huge turn-on." _

Sara allowed a private smile to cross her lips as she searched the windswept landscape. Grissom was loosening up a little more every day, losing some of his more staid inhibitions, evolving into a more robust version of himself as past injuries finally healed and were sloughed off, forgotten among the new memories, the new dreams, he was realizing with Sara. The little boy within would never totally disappear but he was happier now, more at peace, content and comfortable with himself for the first time in forty-five years.

Grissom stood silently as Doc Robbins efficiently performed his initial observation. "It's pretty much the same as before, Gil. Skull bashed in, throat slit, taser burns on the neck..."

"Wait a minute. There was nothing about taser burns in the other reports."

"I was going back through the photos for my final sign-off when I noticed them. The killer was very clever because he hid the burns when he slit the throats. He got careless this time."

"Either that, or he does it in the dark."

"Excuse me?"

"He does it out here in the desert somewhere at night." Grissom grew pensive as he pondered the possibility, rolling it around in his mind, weighing it against what he knew and, yes, felt about the Red Lion. Somehow the thought of their killer sacrificing his victims unto himself on a stone alter by the light of the moon seemed to fit. "Well, those burns do answer one of the many questions I had about this."

"What's that," Doc asked as he motioned to his assistants to lift the body onto the gurney and entomb all that was left of Judge Simmons in a black rubber shroud.

"How he subdues them. He doesn't drug them, the tox screens were clean. Besides, I'm pretty sure that he drinks some of their blood so he wouldn't taint it with narcotics or opiates. He doesn't restrain them. There are no bruises on either the arms or bodies to indicate that they were held down in any way. He shocks them so they are immobilized, yet conscious, while he batters them."

Doc heaved a great sigh. Even with all he had seen in his many years on the job, man's inhumanity to man still had the power to confound and greatly trouble him. "All right, Gil, I'm going to head back and get started on our Judge. I'll see you later."

Nick turned to his boss. "You really think he's drinking the blood?"

Grissom nodded; preoccupied with the morbid profile he was assembling in his mind.

"You thinking he's a vampire? I haven't seen any of the usual occult stuff we would normally find with something like that."

"No, not a vampire, Nick. I think he is interpreting the Bible literally in his quest to overcome."

"Overcome what?" Sara asked as she and Warrick rejoined Grissom and Nick.

"Himself." He shook his head to clear his thoughts and addressed the members of his team. "Are we through here?" He received three affirmative answers. "Good. Let's go. By the way," he asked as if noticing for the first time that he was missing a couple of employees, "where are Catherine and Greg?"

"Brass was able to convince a Judge to cough up a warrant so Catherine is checking out Cephas' place and Greg is going through his locker and desk at the station," supplied Warrick.

Grissom sat in his darkened office, illuminated only by the muted spectral glow of his desk lamp. He needed the dancing shadows to absorb the Lion, needed the bleakness, the blackness to enter into that horrifying heart of darkness. He had teetered on the edge of the abyss before, had trembled on the lip, wavering, always wavering, wondering whether the plunge was worth the price of his humanity, his soul.

He found himself upon the brink once again, a precipice he had not tiptoed since Dr. Lurie had threatened to topple him over with a timeless rage and need he had understood all to well. He felt the frightening familiarity returning, an unwanted ethereal wraith, as he studied the nine notes left by the killer. Each in itself was an ageless gift waiting to be unwrapped, its secrets probed and plundered by an ever-restless mind.

The Red Lion was a Biblical scholar, or, at the very least, someone very familiar with the scriptures. Perhaps at one point he had studied formally, either as an undergraduate or a seminarian, and had even considered heeding the call to minister to other wondering spirits. And yet...his actions and his words bespoke of a total loss of faith, but in what? Was he disillusioned with God or merely the strictures of organized religion? Was society, Nietzsche's much reviled state, responsible for his fall or was it something more personal, something deep within the Lion's own personality that had sent him scurrying into the depraved depths of his tortured conscience? What was the trigger? What had sent him over the edge?

Grissom pondered these questions as he carefully reread each note, trying to glean the killer's motivation from the nine neatly typed pages, all precisely labeled by victim and where each had been found. All were properly accredited to Nietzsche and all had been pulled from the _Zarathustra_ text.

XXXX

Dr. Jonas Garrish – Abduction Note:

"_You have served the people and the superstition of the people, all of you famous wise men – and not truth."_

Dr. Jonas Garrish – Arson Note:

"_That everyone may learn to read, in the long run corrupts not only writing but thinking. Once the spirit was God, then he became man, and now he even becomes rabble."_

Dr. Jonas Garrish – Body/Dump Site Note:

"_It was ever in the desert that the truthful have dwelt, the free spirits, as masters of the desert, but in the cities dwell the well-fed, famous wise men – the beasts of burden. For, as asses, they always pull the people's cart."_

XXXX

Reverend Michael Hubbell – Abduction Note:

"_I am moved to compassion by these priests. I also find them repulsive; but that matters least of all to me since I have been among men. But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners they are to me, and marked men. He whom they call the Redeemer has put them in fetters: in fetters of false virtues and delusive worlds. Would that someone yet redeem them from their Redeemer!"_

Reverend Michael Hubbell – Arson Note:

"_Behold these huts which these priests built! Churches they call their sweet-smelling caves. Oh, that falsified light! That musty air! Here the soul is not allowed to soar to its height. For thus their faith commands: 'Crawl up the stairs on your knees, ye sinners'."_

Reverend Michael Hubbell – Body/Dump Site Note:

"_God is a thought that makes all that is straight, and makes turn whatever stands."_

XXXX

Judge Alethea Simmons – Abduction Note:

_It is the annihilators who set traps for the many and call them 'state': they hang a sword and a hundred appetites over them."_

Judge Alethea Simmons – Arson Note:

"_Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truths than lies."_

Judge Alethea Simmons – Body/Dump Site Note:

"_And you, red judge, if you were to tell out loud all that you have already done in thought, everyone would cry, 'Away with this filth and this poisonous worm'."_

XXXX

He sighed with frustration and removed his glasses to massage his temples. A headache of epic proportions was lurking behind his forehead, battering him mercilessly. The answer was hiding in these notes, in the various items left at the scenes. Grissom just could not put the puzzle together. The only common variant seemed to be that the killer believed them all to be harbingers of falsehood and misguided wisdom. Had philosophy destroyed his faith in religion? Had he then turned to the secular to find value, only to be disappointed once again?

Why did he drink the blood? He did not think that the reason was sacramental. The disciples drank of Christ's blood to gain life eternal, entry into the kingdom of God. The Lion thought himself to be a god, an immortal being. The answer lay deeper, tangled in why he felt compelled to bathe in the urine of his victims. There had to be a reason why he drank the blood of those he deemed inferior and bathed in their defiled waste. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that while the three victims were representative of all that the killer thought amiss with society at large, they were largely incidental, a necessary sacrifice to the Lion's ultimate goal, whatever that might be.

One thing he did know, however, was that Cephas was not the Red Lion. Cephas, while a braggart and a blowhard, had neither the intelligence nor the subtlety to so precisely orchestrate a crime of this magnitude.

There was a quiet rap on his door and Sara poked her head inside. "You okay?" she questioned, concern evident in her hushed tone. "You look like you're lost in something pretty deep."

"Just trying to figure this guy out and not having much luck. You?"

"Oh, I went over to dispatch to talk to Jimmy. I thought we could use some background on Cephas," she said brightly.

"He have anything interesting to say?"

"Yeah, he said plenty but I don't think it will help us a whole lot"

Grissom raised a solitary eyebrow to question her further.

"He just basically rambled on about what a dick Cephas was in high school. Come on, let's go get some coffee. We are all going to meet in the conference room to compare notes."

He nodded and rose painfully to his feet. She gave him a worried once-over which he dismissed with a rueful shake of his head as he reached a hand down to massage his aching knee. "Just a little tired." He glanced towards the open door to make sure no one was within ear shot. "We should have slept instead of...gratifying our more primal instincts."

Sara flushed, glowing softly in the muted light of his office as he walked towards her. "Probably. But what we did was a hell of a lot more fun than sleeping," she muttered softly. Grissom gave a small grunt of agreement as they headed down the hall to join the others.

Catherine spoke first once the team, sans Greg, finally assembled. "Okay, I checked out Officer Cephas' apartment. It's a typical man joint. He has dirty shorts on the bathroom floor...Speedo-type bikini briefs, I might add...,"

Nick coughed, "Banana hammocks," into his hand. Catherine was unperturbed by his childish antics and smoothly continued her recitation.

"...condoms and lubricant in the nightstand, a _lot_ of condoms and lubricant in the night stand, and girlie magazines under the bed. He has photos of himself with Hollywood celebrities plastered all over his walls and even his high school diploma is sitting in plain sight. Oh, and there is at least one mirror in every room. This guy has some serious self-love issues."

"Anything to connect him to this Red Lion character?" asked Warrick.

"Nope," she said, blowing her hair out of her face. "We didn't find a thing other than a roll of duct tape that is being processed now. We even went through his records looking for a storage space or something like that and found nothing. If he is the perp, he is doing a damn good job of covering his tracks."

Nick turned to Sara. "Did you find out anything from Jimmy?"

"Not really. Cephas was your typical bully in high school. He was a big jock and liked to knock the geeks around. You know the type." She seemed to have finished but suddenly remembered something. "He also gave me the recording of the latest 911 call and I gave it to Archie. Archie said that there was nothing of real interest on the previous tapes; nothing unique that would identify the caller. He did say, however, that he thinks they all came from the same person and is working with dispatch to see if they can trace the calls. They were all very short so even with Caller-ID he is not holding his breath because the numbers were blocked."

Warrick spoke up. "I checked out the cat's ride. It's nothing special, a low-end Beamer, and it was clean. No trace of blood and no sledge hammer or taser. I did do a search to see if he had a second vehicle registered here or in California but no dice."

"Nick?" prompted Grissom.

"The blood and urine belonged to the vic. No prints or epithelials on the cup, bowl or loofah. No prints on the note or the keys, either." He paused, brows knitting together. "What do the keys stand for?"

"Keys to the Kingdom. St. Peter, remember?" answered Grissom.

"Which is why she was found face down while the other two were face up. St. Peter was crucified upside down."

Grissom nodded, affirming Nick's deduction. He was not surprised that his team had found nothing to tie Cephas to the killing spree; he already knew that Cephas was not the man they were looking for. He looked around the room. "Where's Greg?"

Catherine looked around the table as well, seeming to notice for the first time that the youngest CSI was nowhere to be found. "I sent him off to search Cephas' desk and locker at the station. He should have been back long before now."

Greg chose that moment to make his entrance. His face was red and he was breathing heavily as if he had run all the way. "We found a note in Cephas' locker. The Red Lion has him."

Greg handed Grissom the evidence bag containing the note while the others turned to pelt Greg with a host of questions. Grissom read the note and regarded the far wall with blistering intensity before slapping his hand forcefully against the table with a resounding **_CRACK_**.

"I know who the killer is," he announced, dropping the note on the table and rushing out the door, leaving five flabbergasted criminalists in his wake.

_**And if three wishes came into my life**_

_**I'd say one was to gaze into your eyes**_

_**And I'd say two, would be turning back our lives**_

_**Three's a long time you know for that kind of wind to blow**_

_**Long time ago we were dreamers on the rise**_

_**Long time ago we were dreamers on the rise**_

**To Be Continued...**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

**A/N: **Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.

**Summary: **"True, we love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."** _Also Sprach Zarathustra -_ Freidrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Seven**

**In The Desert**

In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"

"It is bitter – bitter," he answered;

"But I like it

Because it is bitter,

And because it is my heart."

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'I shall give you what no eye has seen and what no ear has heard and what no hand has touched and what has never occurred to the human mind'."

**The Gospel of Thomas (17)**

_And so it goes, and so it begins. I shiver upon the brink, this last shaky step to complete my tempestuous journey. One more soul to steal, one more heart to devour, one more sinner to crucify. I am free. I can taste my overcoming on the wind, feel it dancing through my veins. Soon, very soon, I shall be the one, the only. All will cower before me, tremble at the very sight of me, beseech me for forgiveness and redemption. Shall I bestow my magnificent mercy upon them? Shall I show them the way, let them enter? Only one among the filthy masses is worthy. Only one can enter within. Only one can see all that I am and all that I have become. Only he can understand and embrace my glory. He and I are one and ever shall be. He is I, I am Him. Behold! My time is now._

_And so it goes, and so it begins. Hearken to my altar, ye sinners, and place your heathen heads upon my stone, my Holy of Holies. Feel the power of my hammer, taste the fire of my lightening. I shall crush you with a single blow like those that have come before, those scurrilous curs who dared mock my will and revile my sanctity with their misplaced egos and wandering lust. I have bathed myself in their fetid waste to absorb their wickedness into my pores. I have sipped of their blood to consume their worthlessness. They have been devoured and yet still live within me, never to be forgotten in the blackened abyss. I have consumed mine enemies and shall ye be consumed. Embrace the vast wasteland that nourishes all life and let if overflow your senses. Know that you are going to perish upon my throne. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. From the desert you have come, to the sandstorm you shall return. My will be done. Behold! My time is now._

_Red Lion has come._

_Fear me._

Grissom was hunched over his desk, rifling through his notes, when the sound of a very feminine, very annoyed throat being cleared captured his attention. He glanced up to find all of the members of his team hovering in the doorway of his office. Catherine was standing front and center with her hands firmly planted on her hips and a look of frustration on her face.

"What?" Grissom muttered in exasperation. Why were they all standing in his doorway instead of getting the information and evidence they needed to nail this guy?

"Who?" they all asked in unison.

"Who what?" Grissom had no idea what they wanted and why they were wasting valuable time.

"Grissom," Catherine began patiently, speaking to him as if he were a child, waving the latest note in the air for emphasis. "You may know who the killer is but you haven't seen fit to share that information with the rest of the class."

"Oh," he blinked, finally comprehending. The others had not yet connected all of the dots. "Jimmy Matthews is the Red Lion."

"You're kidding, right?" asked Nick incredulously. "That little mousy guy who works in dispatch?"

"No, Nick, I am not kidding. I just can't prove it...yet. It is all right here in the note."

XXXX

_Our faith in others betrays in what respect we would like to have faith in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer, And often love is only a device to overcome envy. And often one attacks and makes an enemy in order to conceal that one is open for attack.__i_

XXXX

"Look, here's what I need from all of you. Divide and conquer. I don't care who does what, but it all needs to be done in a hurry. We don't have much time."

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

He handed Catherine a sheet of paper and went back to his notes, effectively dismissing them. Cath ran through the list and began assigning the tasks, each criminalist taking off to run down the evidence they needed.

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

Greg was sent back to Cephas' apartment to see if he could find the officer's high school year book. Warrick once again hit the DMV database to see what vehicles Jimmy owned. Nick was in charge of digging up as much background on Matthews as possible. Catherine contacted Brass for warrants and she and Sara were cooling their heels waiting for the paper to come through so that they could search Jimmy's apartment.

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

Rather than sitting idle, Sara dug through public records to see if Jimmy owned property other than what was listed as his primary residence and Catherine ran his credit card purchases. Both women came up empty. Jimmy owned no additional property and nothing of interest, save for some limestone blocks, popped up on his credit cards.

Time marched on as the criminalists raced about compiling what they needed. Brass was able to easily obtain several warrants and the frantic pace of the search accelerated.

**_TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK..._**relentlessly...each tiny thundering movement of the clock marking another moment closer, another minute nearer.

Grissom sat alone in the conference room, files strewn across the table, savagely berating himself for missing the obvious, for placing all of his faith in only one possible interpretation of the evidence, for refusing to consider what else Jimmy was trying to tell him. Yes, he was trying to frame Cephas but, at the same time, was waving an unerring, accusing finger towards the victim, the real target in all of this...Officer J. J. Cephas. Jimmy first took out his anger on all that he thought Cephas had stolen from him, all of those aspects of society that had failed him in one way or another. Now, he is going after the thief himself.

It had to happen Friday, Good Friday. By killing Cephas he would be ritualistically killing himself and thus all of the injury he perceived Cephas responsible for. On Sunday, the third day, he would rise, his philosophical transformation complete. Cephas' death would represent the real overcoming, would bury everything that has held him in stasis. And, then the real terror would begin. Jimmy would be guided only by his newly formed twisted perception of morality, his private doctrine. Yes, once Cephas lay dead and broken in the desert, the real killing would begin. He would kill Cephas sometime...he paused to glance at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand pulse persistently onward...tomorrow. Maundy Thursday was upon them.

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

Greg was the first to arrive back, Cephas' high school yearbook in tow. The annual did not yield any particularly startling insights into either man, other than the fact that Jimmy's extracurricular activities had dwindled into nothingness by the time he graduated and that Cephas was indeed a BMOC. He had been voted "Most Popular", "Best Looking", "Most Athletic", was the captain of the football, basketball and baseball teams and even performed in show choir and school musicals. Cephas had predictably defaced pictures of students he did not like; he had inked a mustache and beard on Jimmy's photo and had further obliterated the youthful features by scrawling "LOSER" across the portrait. Grissom gazed at the photo and shook his head ruefully, wondering what the BMOC in his own graduating class had scrawled across his senior picture.

"He really is a dick," Greg said, watching Grissom. "There was a guy just like him in my high school who got his jollies from knocking me around for no reason."

Grissom gave Greg a sympathetic look. "I think we all had our own personal Cephas somewhere along the line. Adolescence is difficult enough without bullies humiliating you every step of the way."

"Were you bullied, Grissom?"

Grissom merely shook his head, a mysterious and even sad little grin flitting across his face. "I was a ghost."

The moment passed, one in which Greg got a rare unguarded glimpse of the man who is his boss. "Oh," Greg said. "Sara wanted me to stop by Jimmy's place and get this for you. She and Catherine are still processing but thought you might want this as soon as possible." He handed Grissom a tattered notebook. "She thinks that it is some sort of journal. I thumbed through it and, I gotta tell you, some of the stuff in there is downright freaky."

"Thank you, Greg," he murmured absently, delving into Jimmy's private thoughts. Greg watched Grissom read for a few minutes before heading off to see if any of the others needed help.

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

_The worm crawls through my mind_

_Tearing at my soul_

_Feasting upon my tortured humanity_

_Destroying all that was good_

_All that was gentle_

_All that was kind_

_To leave nothing_

_Festering lesions_

_Bloody welts_

_Until I am empty_

_A hollow shell of all that I was_

_And all that I would have been_

"Grissom!" Nick shouted as he hurtled into the room with Greg on his heels, startling the older man from his reading. "You will not believe what I found out."

"Okay, I started by going through Jimmy's personnel file. Both of his parents are deceased and he has no siblings. His emergency contact and next of kin is one Mary Lou Cephas." Grissom just nodded serenely, as if he had known that the relationship between Cephas and Matthews ran far deeper than just high school classmates but Greg's eyes widened with disbelief.

"Cephas and Jimmy are related?"

"You got it. Their mothers were twin sisters. I called J.J.'s mom, said I was doing a newsletter article about relatives in law enforcement and she was more than happy to talk about both of them. She also gave up the names of some of their old friends so I contacted them as well. I was able to come up with a pretty in-depth bio," Nick reported proudly.

James David Matthews was the only child of David, a tenured professor of English at UCLA and Rosalie, a homemaker. The Matthews and Cephas families lived two doors down from each other and Jimmy and J. J. were inseparable as young boys. They were schoolmates from the time they went off to kindergarten to the time they graduated from senior high school. As youngsters they took turns sleeping over at each other's houses or in homemade tents they constructed in the back yard, played on the same pee wee athletic teams and their families even took vacations together.

_Listen to me! I'm a voice in the sky!_

_The wind that haunts, disturbing your nights._

_Misting and swirling, slipping on by,_

_You can't escape my fury_

_Or sad mournful cry._

_Listen to me! Thundering with might!_

_Rattling your mirrors, your windows of sight._

_Brushing away grit and layers of grime,_

_Showing you terrors,_

_The suffering of time._

_Listen to me! as I screech through your brain!_

_Showering your thoughts with revolutionary rain_

_Shouting my wisdom, sharing my past_

_Hoping my message_

_Will be broadcast at last._

_I'm the voice of salvation, compassion of man,_

_Urging you onward, igniting the land_

_Freeing the children, releasing the soul,_

_A voice crying lonely,_

_Unheard in the cold._

Jimmy's life changed dramatically when he entered junior high school. David Matthews died suddenly of a heart attack on Jimmy's eleventh birthday and his mother was forced to find employment outside of the home. Rosie eventually took a job as a sales clerk at an exclusive dress shop and, by all accounts, had trouble adjusting to the life and demands of single parenthood. Jimmy was left to his own devices and spent much of his free time visiting the Cephas household.

Junior high also marked a major turning point in the relationship between the two boys as well. J. J.'s athleticism was propelling him onto several select all-star teams and away from Jimmy, Boy Scouts and the church youth group. J. J.'s new "pals" liked to boast of their prowess on and off the playing field and took particular delight in mistreating boys like Jimmy who were small, studious, largely non-athletic; boys they termed to be "geeks" or "losers." At first J. J. tried to protect his cousin from his new friends but eventually this new circle of friends let it be known in no uncertain terms that J. J. would have to choose between them or Jimmy. J. J. was not willing to give up the prestige and popularity that was associated with this particular clique and began to torment his cousin as well, oftentimes instigating the worst of the physical and emotional humiliation. Jimmy was devastated by J. J.'s betrayal, a blow from which he never fully recovered. Within a span of a couple of years, he had lost his father and then his best friend, both of whom he worshiped to the point of idolatry. . He started withdrawing and by the time he graduated from high school, he had become a virtual recluse.

_All alone, once again_

_No human form tries my door_

_Just ghosts and spectres_

_Ghoulish nightmares_

_Of what was, in happier times_

_Long ago before the storm_

_When I was still alive_

_Raging tears _

_Shed in agony_

_For a dream shattered and splintered beyond repair_

_During the long hot summer_

_Season of lost innocence_

_Squandered youth_

_Crushed hopes_

_And death_

_Farewell to joy_

_Farewell to laughter_

_Priceless artifacts trampled asunder_

_Forever more_

_The wind is picking up, whistling, snorting_

_From a pale green dragon_

_Screeching enviously and scratching waxen trees_

_An unwelcome intrusion_

_Marring solitary solitude_

_While closing in _

_Trapping me one last time_

_In his icy grip_

Jimmy had turned to the church for solace in his grief and planned on studying theology in college before eventually attending seminary and dedicating his life to God. He sought to find some sort of meaning and value in his suffering and thought perhaps his life experience might help him understand and minister to others who had been maltreated. J. J. had been so wrapped up in athletics, partying and whoring that, despite being recruited by several major universities and offered numerous football scholarships, he simply did not have the test scores or grades to attend college. He was packed off to the local junior college to bolster his GPA and eventually enrolled in the police academy.

_Another Saturday night_

_Slipped slowly, softly_

_Into the pre-dawn hours of morn_

_All is quiet upon the beach_

_The wind whispers_

_On night-blackened wings_

_Charred evening's fire_

_Acrid smoke lingering_

_No one is home,_

_Tires screech! Crash! Silence!_

_Old refrigerator sings tirelessly_

_Same laborious song_

_Tediously reassuring_

_Curtains safely drawn_

_Pale beams from a scant quarter moon_

_Dance across paint-chipped walls_

_Clock face barely visible_

_3:33_

_Going on nothing_

_Still the dreams hide_

One of Jimmy's few positive high school experiences was meeting a girl named Jenn. They dated almost exclusively throughout their junior and senior years and Jenn remained at home to study drama while Jimmy headed to Arizona for his undergraduate studies. While Jimmy was gone, Jenn gravitated towards J. J. He was exceptionally handsome and just had this...something about him. At first, Jenn sought out J. J. for news of Jimmy. Then, as time passed and Jimmy seemed farther and farther away, Jenn and J. J. started officially dating. Neither told Jimmy for Jenn did not want to hurt him unnecessarily, but an unforeseen tragedy brought the illicit relationship to the surface. J. J. and Jenn were out cruising one night, exceeding the speed limit, and J. J. lost control of his car. He walked away from the wreckage with barely a scratch but Jenn's neck had been snapped on impact and she had died instantly. Once again, J. J. had managed to destroy that which was precious to Jimmy and Jimmy was never able to forgive him.

_You seep into the shadows_

_Ever present_

_Grasping with slime-encrusted claws_

_All that I revere_

_Hold dear_

_Hide away_

_You yet find_

_Worming further and further_

_Deeper and deeper_

_Harder and harder_

_Into my heart_

_There is nothing left_

_In the crags of hardened stone_

_You eater of souls_

_You have stolen my final victory_

_To claim it as your own_

_One more tarnished trophy_

_Gathering dust upon a shelf_

Jimmy graduated from college summa cum laude, but it was a hollow achievement. His mother succumbed to breast cancer two months before he was due to receive his diploma. He had no one left to care about him, no one with whom he could share his life. God had taken his parents and his cousin had destroyed his only chance for future happiness. Jimmy's heart hardened. He turned further inward, damning all that had formerly held meaning or value in his life. He abandoned his plans to attend seminary for he could no longer stomach the thought that God was benevolent or cared about his children. He was alone in the world, without direction, without purpose.

_Looking in_

_Looking out_

_Makes no difference_

_Still at the window_

_Seeing nothing_

_Only emptiness_

_And waste_

_Reflection of being_

He bounced around for awhile, working at various odd jobs and professions before finally landing in Vegas about five years earlier. He used part of the money he inherited from his parents to purchase a small town home and lived a quiet, solitary existence. Those who knew him from work thought him to be a little odd but nothing serious. He was uncommonly fond of quoting Nietzsche and other philosophers and it was common knowledge that he held Grissom in the highest esteem. He prattled endlessly about how much he had in common with the amazing Dr. Grissom and had even been talking about going back to school to study to become a CSI so he could work with Grissom. There was nothing, no red flags, no warning signals, no flashing neon signs to indicate that he was slipping into madness; that he had evolved into a deranged serial killer.

_Moonlight sonata, serenade in the mist_

_Whistling aimlessly_

_Floating on a gentle breeze_

_Caressing ivory glances of refracting prisms._

_Black-burnt cypresses shadow and blanket_

_Sentinel dragon_

_Quietly guarding, silently watching_

_As the hour of execution draws nigh_

_Slowly mounting, closer higher_

_Peering o'er cloudy bays_

_To its zenith._

_Cries of terror, howls of doom_

_Flashing livid splashing mercury_

_Sparking fires, slashing out_

_Hurriedly consuming_

_Greedily feeding_

_Never satiated_

_Bathing the guardian Golden Dragon_

_In a last veil of splendor, final wreath of glory_

_Before he staggers, drunkenly wavering_

_Tumbling into scorched puddles_

_Fiery blood bubbles_

_Wrought by the beast and his dripping fangs_

_Licking satisfaction, pleasure_

_From his stained jowls_

_Crusted whiskers_

_Red Lion has come_

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

Warrick was the next member of the team to check in and lost no time in relaying his findings. DMV records showed that Jimmy owned a Honda Civic hybrid and a little Toyota 4x4 pickup truck. His financial records revealed that Jimmy did have a rather sizable nest egg that he had inherited from his parents. Granted, it was not a fortune and he could not live on this money for any extended amount of time but Jimmy tended to live well within the means of his salary and rarely splurged. The only real exceptions seemed to be his woodworking tools and several large blocks of limestone.

"Limestone," drawled Nick, not certain that he had heard Warrick correctly.

"Yeah, limestone. An assload of it," replied Warrick. I called the wholesaler he used. He said that Jimmy found him on-line. Anyway, this guy normally deals in stuff like tile for floors or counters or vanities...building supplies, basically. Well our boy wanted," Warrick paused to flip through his notes, "a hunk of Jerusalem Gold Dark limestone that was fifty-eight feet long by forty-five feet wide by three feet tall. And, it could be not be honed, it had to be rough-hewn."

"Were they able to get that for him?" Something in Grissom's tone led the others to believe that he had an idea of what their suspect had wanted the limestone for.

"Not all in one block. They were able to get him three blocks that were roughly nineteen and a third feet by fifteen feet by three feet tall. And, they were all rough quarried, no finishing or anything else. Jimmy wasn't too happy that he could not get one block but satisfied that there were only three. Apparently, according to the distributor, Jimmy said that three was a magic number."

Nick let out a low whistle. "How much did all that cost?"

"By the time all was said and done, he dropped about thirty large on his big rocks."

"Thirty thousand dollars?" squeaked Greg. "For three blocks of limestone? What the hell did he do with them?"

"Man, if I am going to spend that much cash on a rock, it is going to be for some lucky lady's left finger," muttered Nick.

"He is building his own godesh haggodashim." All three men turned to Grissom who was reclining with eyes closed, head raised towards the ceiling, listening to and absorbing all of the information his criminalists had amassed.

"Excuse me?" asked Warrick.

"His Holy of Holies, modeled after the one in the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. The stone altar measured forty cubits by twenty-five cubits by two cubits high, the precise dimensions Jimmy specified in his order. The Temple of Solomon was double the proportions of the tabernacle Moses built in the desert, dimensions that were given to Moses by God. Why did it have to be unhewn blocks? 'And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build it of hewn stone: for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted itii'."

Nick had one further question. "How the hell did he get his limestone once it was shipped?"

"Again, according to the distributor," continued Warrick, "Jimmy had to rent a U- Haul with a lift gate to get the stuff from the freight terminal. Who knows what he did with it from there. There is a paper trail that he rented a forklift, I'm assuming he used it to move the blocks where he wanted them, but no way of knowing where he took them."

"Grissom," Greg began, his brows furrowed in concentration. "I'm confused. I thought Jimmy lost his faith in God. Why is he using all of this religious symbolism?

"Because old habits die hard and you're not the only one who's confused."

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

Sara and Catherine finally returned from tossing Jimmy's townhouse and one of his vehicles, the Honda. Jimmy and the little 4x4 were nowhere to be found. They did not find the murder weapon or the taser but they did find a set of Waterford champagne flutes and a box of earthenware bowls that matched the ones found at the dump sites. Jimmy was a scrupulous planner and had very detailed notes and photos of all of the victims. He also had a large sheaf of newspaper clippings pertaining to the Red Lion's deeds and an extra scrapbook devoted solely to Grissom.

"You better watch yourself, Gil," Catherine warned. "This guy knows an awful lot about you. He might go gunning for you next."

"I'll be careful, Catherine, but I don't think he's after me. I think he either wants me to join him or to stop him."

"He doesn't know everything about you, Gris," stated Sara. Grissom raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. "Well, he asked me out a couple of days ago and seemed kind of shocked when I told him that I was seriously involved with someone."

"Did you mention Grissom by name?" Warrick asked.

"No, I just told him I was with someone and was not interested in going out with him."

"Maybe," ventured Greg, "he was testing you."

"What do you mean," demanded Sara defensively. "What kind of test."

"Well, according to Nick's background info, Jimmy had a girlfriend who cheated on him," returned Greg. "She started seeing Cephas while Jimmy was away at college and was killed when Cephas failed to properly negotiate a turn at a high rate of speed. Maybe Jimmy was seeing if you were willing to step out on Grissom."

Nick nodded, agreeing with Greg. "That makes sense. Jimmy already seems to think he and Grissom were cut from the same mold. No offense, Gris, but you aren't exactly a man about town. I think Jimmy wants to be you."

Catherine rolled her eyes and huffed dramatically. "Oh God. Another Grissom. That's all we need. The one we have is bad enough."

**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**

Title: Und Ich Erstehe Title: Und Ich Erstehe

_I must createI must createI must create  
I am GodI am GodI am God_

_I must createI must createI must create  
I must find valueI must find valueI must find value  
Kill them allKill them allKill them all  
I must destroyI must destroyI must destroy_

_Build it upBuild it upBuild it up  
Tear it downTear it downTear it down  
Blow it upBlow it upBlow it up  
Start againStart againStart again_

_I must createI must createI must create  
I must find valueI must find valueI must find value_

_I am the FatherI am the SonI am the Spirit_

_ I AM GOD!_

"We need a grid map," Grissom announced. "I need to know precisely where the bodies were found." 

Nick hurried off to get the requested map while Grissom continued thinking aloud. "Where is he, where would he take them? It is in the threes, he is hung up on the threes."

Catherine asked, "What threes?"

"The triads – The Holy Trinity...father, son and holy ghost, Nietzsche's trinity of overcoming...the camel, lion and the child, the three saints...James, John and Peter, the three victims. Everything had to be done in threes before he could go after Cephas."

"So you're thinking that the location of the bodies is another three…" began Sara.

"That will point to the killer's location," finished Warrick.

Nick returned with the map and they carefully plotted the exact location of each dump site.

Title: Und Ich Erstehe 

X (AS)

(JG)X X(MH)

"Well, that's not very helpful," snorted Catherine. "I can't see what he was trying to do."

"Ah, but it is not what he is trying to do but rather what he has already done," replied Grissom.

"I see it!" exclaimed Greg. He looked at Grissom. "May I?"

Grissom nodded and Greg carefully drew a line from the placement of Judge Simmons' body to a slight promontory due south.

X (AS)

(JG)X X(MH)

l

l

l

l

l

l

X

As Greg completed his line, the picture became clear. Jimmy had constructed his limestone altar, his holy of holies, at the foot of his depraved cross. Grissom pointed to the elevation. "That's where we will find him. Call Brass. Let's go."

"Hey Gris," Warrick paused to let the others clear the room. "How'd you know it was Jimmy?"

Grissom allowed a small satisfied grin to grace his lips. "I didn't," he shrugged. "I played a hunch."

_**TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...TICK TOCK...**_

By the time the criminalists reached the desert, dawn was breaking and the Day of Preparation, Good Friday was upon them. A sandstorm was brewing reducing visibility to a little more than a painful squint against the stinging sand. The wind tore at Grissom's clothes as he set out towards Jimmy's altar, billowing the cotton of his chinos like sail cloth tossed about on the high seas. Grissom was indeed heading directly into the eyes of a storm, but it was one of madness, not nature's fury.

Grissom raised his left hand over his sunglasses to further protect his vision as he neared the Matthews' makeshift temple, an oasis of insanity nestled in the cradle of nothingness. Jimmy and Cephas were there, Cephas bound and kneeling to the side of the limestone mass. Cephas had a dark stain on the crotch of his jeans where he had proved himself to be human, all too human, in a moment of uncontrolled terror. Grissom, not wanting to take his eyes off of Jimmy, chanced a glance at the painstakingly reproduced altar. The golden-hued stone was stained black with burnt blood.

Jimmy watched Grissom approach, elated that he had come to share this moment. "Behold!" cried Jimmy, as he watched Grissom approach, elated and humbled that his idol had actually come to witness his own pathetic attempt to overcome. "I have seen the overman and he is nigh! Come, let us rejoice and worship on bended knee!" He dropped down, heedless of the abrasive sand, to prostrate himself before Grissom. He reached over and pulled Cephas down as well. "You might not bow before me but you will tremble when greatness appears before your eyes," he hissed sharply at his cousin whose eyes were watering freely, scraped ruthlessly by the blowing sand. "That's right, dog, weep. Sob for all you have taken from me and that which I am about to take from you. Wail for the magnificence that approaches and know now, in the moment of your inglorious death that you will never attain such splendor."

"Jimmy!" Grissom bellowed. "Let him go! He is nothing. You are lowering yourself to him, facing him on his level, reducing this to nothing more than revenge."

"NO! It's not about revenge. He made me, he forced me to become. The only way I can finish is to devour that which has held me back."

"The only thing that has held you back all these years is yourself."

"NO! It was him, always him. I thought you understood. I am you, you are me. We are one. I checked you out. Our dads both died when we were kids. We are both life-long bachelors. We are private and reclusive. We are educated men. We want justice for the evil in the world." Jimmy was growing hysterical, trying to make Grissom see, to comprehend that this was the only way. Evil cannot be reformed nor preached away nor talked into nonexistence. His way, the morality of creation, his own covenant unto himself, was the only hope. "We were destined to face this life alone; pure, virginal and untouched. All that we held dear was stolen from us when we were young. We must destroy those who drove us into the abyss, must destroy the evil doers, must free ourselves from those who made us the men we are today. Only then can we find someone worthy of our care and devotion."

"You will never be me, Jimmy. You cannot face the eternal return," Grissom fired back forcefully, disdain dripping from every word as he tried to infiltrate the cloudy hysteria of Jimmy's mind, penetrate the hazy delusions in a desperate effort to coerce him to listen to reason. "I have always known exactly who and what I am. Any failures or disasters I have endured were all of my own making. I was the one responsible for them and the only one who could change them. You have placed that blame on someone else rather than take a long hard look at yourself. My life is not perfect. I have as much detestable baggage as everyone else. But, unlike you, I would change nothing. I accept the man I have become and could not be that man without my past. You haven't made it that far and you never will."

"Oh damn," Brass muttered to Nick as the two carefully edged closer and closer to Jimmy's back. "Gil's going for broke."

Like a mortally wounded wild animal, knowing that death is near, Jimmy released an anguished screech towards the sky. The pain was unbearable, a thousand white-hot shards of serrated glass embedding themselves into his psyche. It was true; everything Grissom had said was true. Everything, every last little foible that had led to his downfall, which had held him back his entire life had been his own. He alone had held himself back, not his dead father, not his lifeless mother, not his lying, cheating girlfriend, not even his worthless cousin. Oh! The blessed anguish! The euphoric torture of a blinding truth finally revealed.

Grissom could see that Brass was very nearly in position. The time had come to shatter Jimmy's perceptions once and for all. His tone was gentler, and filled with wonder as he continued. "Jimmy, despite myself or in spite of myself, I am not alone. I have someone in my life." Jimmy turned his tear-stained face once again to Grissom, feeling each softly spoken word like a iron spike through his soul. "I found someone who is not ashamed of me, who loves me because I am who I am, who loves my flaws and imperfections and the man I will yet become. I found someone to love, Jimmy, and someone to love me in return. I have someone to walk with me and to catch me when I fall. I found this, Jimmy, because I accept what I am instead of blaming someone else for keeping me from becoming what I thought I should as opposed to the man I am supposed be."

Jimmy slumped to the ground and collapsed upon himself as gut-wrenching sobs wracked his frame. It was over. His life had been in vain, had amounted to a nothing more vast than the deepest darkest abyss. Brass walked up and cuffed the broken man where he lay huddled in the driving sand before moving to release Cephas.

Cephas rubbed his writs vigorously and shook Brass' hand before turning to address Grissom. "Thanks for finding me, man, and thanks for not hurting Jimmy. I don't know what happened to him. He was always such a nice guy. I guess he just snapped or something."

"Officer Cephas?" Grissom was tired, He did not want to spend another moment in this barren place and he did not want to waste another moment of his time speaking with Cephas. "You can only kick a dog so many times before it bites back. You helped to create this monster. I hope you can live with that." Cephas looked at him blankly as he turned slowly and limped gingerly to rejoin his team.

It was time to leave, time to reconnect with all of the people who were important to him. He would buy his superb group of criminalists breakfast and then he and Sara would finally go home...just the two of them, to further realize their dreams together in the bright light of day. They were no longer bound by darkness. They could dance without fear under the rejuvenating glow of the noon day sun; free to hope, free to plan, free to build a future, together.

_**Once, we were dreamers on the rise**_

_**We were the sun where the sun never shines**_

_**And we were gold where the nightbird only flies**_

_**Ah, that's a long time you know for that kind of wind to blow**_

_**Long time ago we were dreamers on the rise**_

**To Be Continued...**

iNietzsche, Freidrich, _Also Sprach Zarathustra_.

iiExodus 20:25


	9. Epilogue

**Title:** Dreamers on the Rise

**Author:** Cropper

**Pairing:** GSR

**Rating:** Mature for Profanity and Graphic Imagery

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, the characters herein are not mine. I promise to play nice and return them when I am done.

**A/N:** Cheryl? You rock. Thanks for everything. The song I have been quoting in every chapter, and which appears in its entirety at the end of this epilogue, is called "Dreamers on the Rise" by John Stewart. If you are so inclined and would like to listen, **wobbear** has graciously informed me that the song is available from iTunes and is classified as country.

**Summary:** "There are a thousand paths that have never been trodden – a thousand healths and hidden isles of life. Even now, man and man's earth are unexhausted and undiscovered." **Freidrich Nietzsche** – **_Also Sprach Zarathustra_**

**Epilogue**

**Supposing That I Should Have The Courage**

Supposing that I should have the courage  
To let a red sword of virtue  
Plunge into my heart,  
Letting to the weeds of the ground  
My sinful blood,  
What can you offer me?  
A gardened castle?  
A flowery kingdom?

What? A hope?  
Then hence with your red sword of virtue.

**Stephen Crane**

"Jesus said, 'That which you have will save you if you bring it forth from yourselves. That which you do not have within you will kill you if you do not have it within you.' "

**The Gospel of Thomas (70)**

Grissom and Sara drove home from the diner and wearily prepared for bed. Sara noticed with a satisfied smirk and ill-suppressed quiver of anticipation that Grissom had not bothered to don his pajamas. In fact, he had shucked his boxers and lay stretched out on his stomach, a private feast sprawled temptingly just for her. She took a moment to admire the way his pale, golden skin tones blended harmoniously with the celery colored sheets before swiftly stripping away her sleepwear and climbing atop him, carefully easing down to straddle his firm buttocks.

Grissom had been more quiet and withdrawn than usual throughout breakfast and Sara knew that he was still troubled by what he had read in Jimmy's journal; that he was struggling to logically comprehend the cataclysmic chain of events that had, along with Matthews' irreparably damaged psyche, somehow conspired to transform a once gentle, idealistic scholar and seminarian into a vengeful, wrathful serial killer. There were no easy answers, but that did not stop Grissom from brooding, from trying to discern where Jimmy had faltered, where his descent into madness and a living, frightening personal hell had begun. Sara did not want Jimmy occupying another moment of their lives. The case was closed and filed away. The killer had done his damage and was gone. He was dead and they remained – together and stronger than before – to follow the meandering path that was their life together.

Grissom buried his face into his pillow to smother a half-choked moan as he felt Sara's damp nudity settle lightly on his rear. She began to knead the thickly knotted muscles bunched tightly along his broad shoulders, knowing that the firm rhythm and press of her palms would not only relax, but also awaken his senses. It was her most potent weapon in a well-stocked arsenal, one guaranteed to achieve maximum results. She rubbed his back in deep, soothing strokes, silently willing him forget, to let the dead rest, to refocus his attention on the dream-rich life pulsing abundantly within the confines of their private, secluded sanctuary.

Sara changed her movements, scooting forward to the small of his back as her touch lightened and grew more sensual. All thoughts of the case faded from Grissom's consciousness as his attention was relentlessly pulled to Sara with every sweep of her magnificent hands. The feel of her against his bare skin, hot, silky and moist, was incredibly arousing and despite the wretched exhaustion that had persistently dogged him since his return from North Carolina, he was hard, very hard. Sara noticed slight change in his breathing and watched as he shifted his weight to accommodate his growing erection.

"Turn over," she softly commanded.

She rose up on her knees to let him roll beneath her and, when he finally settled on his back, gently held his weeping shaft against his stomach and seated herself along its length. Grissom swallowed heavily, his eyes wide and bright, but remained utterly passive, content to let Sara control the moment. She gently massaged his chest, savoring the rhythmic thumps of his rapidly accelerating heart beat, while issuing another quiet order.

"Touch me."

He slid his hands along the length of her thighs, slowly inching upwards before meeting in her center and beginning to softly swirl and explore the exotic secrets she kept hidden from all but him. Grissom had become an expert in unerringly navigating Sara's hidden coves and inlets and used his expertise to coax guttural grunts and groans from her parted lips. She began rocking her slim body along his erection and he freed one hand to grasp the nape of her neck and pull her face to his. Their lips melded in a hot kiss, tongues twining and exchanging tales of want and need, while Grissom's thumb continued to work Sara into a frenzy of erotic sensation. He rolled them over, mouths connected, his hand never leaving the humid haven between her damp thighs. As Sara continued to vocalize her pleasure against his tongue, Grissom slipped two fingers into her depths. He stroked and cajoled as Sara grew louder and more demanding, straining towards the release she knew her lover would unselfishly provide.

Sara pulled her mouth from his and moaned loudly as her orgasm crashed over her in savage, undulating waves of pleasure. Grissom watched silently, awed and secretly pleased, as she completely unraveled and her skin flushed a delightful shade of rosy satisfaction. He continued his gentle movements, helping her recover from her sexual high.

When she at last appeared completely satiated, Grissom removed his had from between her things and captured one of her taut nipples in his mouth, intent on stoking her fires once again. His hands moved across her torso with knowing ease and as Sara returned to herself, she felt his erection rubbing shamelessly along her hip. She knew that their time had finally arrived and tugged and pulled at Grissom until he was squarely atop her, his pelvis resting in the cradle of her trembling thighs, his tip rubbing suggestively against her still-sensitive core. Her hand slipped between their hips to give him a few encouraging strokes before she placed the head of his cock at her opening.

"Push, baby," Sara all but begged, wanting more than anything to finally feel full and complete. They had waited so long and overcome so many obstacles to arrive at this moment. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized that they were about to complete another leg of their journey and fulfill yet another dream Grissom thought destined to forever remain in the muzzy twilight of his slumber.

Grissom haltingly flexed his hips and, with one tentative thrust, slipped home. His eyes, almost black in the muted light of the bedroom, were filled with innocent awe and amazement. Sara was certain that she had never seen anything so primally beautiful in her life than the face of her precious man-child as he entered her body for the first time. He remained motionless, trying to absorb the new sensations surrounding him. He was unprepared for the absolute heat, the soft pulses of Sara's slick womb that thrummed along the length of his shaft. All of the reading and research in the world had not prepared him for the perfection, the tightness, the exquisite glove-like fit of Sara's body around him. He knew that he was supposed to be doing something but could not concentrate for he was simply overwhelmed, utterly lost in the sheer confectionary delight of the molten chocolate lave nestled between Sara's succulent legs.

Sara caressed his face tenderly, knowing that he was fighting for control. God! It was such a turn on! She had not anticipated the sheer, unbridled emotion that would accompany the loss of Grissom's virginity. She was close to another orgasm from merely watching the swirling passion and wonder revolve across his normally stoic features. "Just do what comes naturally, Gris. Your body knows what to do. Just let it happen, baby," she panted.

Grissom started moving hesitantly, his eyes locked on Sara's. Her hands slid to his finely muscled ass, caressing the pencil-thin scars, urging him to go deeper, to push harder and faster as she worked a hand between their rocking hips to massage herself. She was more than content to watch Grissom experience the pinnacle of physical love for the first time but knew deep within her soul that he would consider himself a failure if she did not come. It really did not take much effort on her part; she was so close from just observing the maelstrom of wonderment rocketing through his eyes. His lids slammed shut as she shuddered and her inner muscles clenched greedily at his cock and flew back open as he gritted his teeth and soundlessly pulsated through a mind-numbing ejaculation. His sloppy thrusts slowed to a stop and he bonelessly collapsed on Sara, eyes closed and face buried in her neck. His shoulders were shaking violently and it took her a minute or two to figure out that he was silently crying.

Sara was stunned. Sure, this first effort had been quick and Gris had been unable to sustain any sort of rhythm, but it had been so beautiful, so brutally honest, that she wanted to savor the moment forever like a droplet of fine wine rolling across her tongue. He had trusted her enough with his heart and his body to let go and give in to age-old physical demands that he had never been able to fulfill. True, he had no technique, but as far as Sara was concerned, his love-making had been totally satisfying. She cherished Grissom's loss of innocence more than she had ever enjoyed the efforts of other, more knowledgeable lovers. She had never experienced the physical and emotional aspects of love together before and was astounded that it had taken an emotionally repressed, fifty-year-old-virgin to show her the way.

"Gris?"

He slowly raised his head to look at her, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

"You okay, baby?"

He nodded in the affirmative and lay back down, still shivering. "Thank you," he murmured softly into her neck.

"For what?"

"For loving me. For not giving up on me. For letting me love you."

Sated, they fell prey to the relentless exhaustion that had stalked them throughout the very difficult and harrowing struggle that had haunted both Matthews and Grissom. Entwined and still joined, they drifted off, sleeping a perfect sleep free from demons and abounding with hope and joy. Both had finally found everything that they needed, things they hadn't known they were missing until they stumbled upon them together. Their arduous journey was complete. The wind had blown for many years and finally, their dreams were no longer on the rise. They had crested and Grissom and Sara could only marvel at the blissful inner peace. They were together. They could finally rest, free to dream new dreams of a future full of hope and promise.

**Dreamers on the Rise**

Once, we were dreamers on the rise  
We were the sun, where the sun never shines  
And we were gold, where the night bird only flies  
Ah, that's a long time you know, for that kind of wind to blow  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise

And twice, we said we'd begin again  
And we made a vow, that we'd remain as friends  
And falling down, we said we shall rise again  
Ah, that's a long time you know, for that kind of wind to blow  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the mend  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the mend

And if three wishes came into my life  
I'd say one, was to gaze into your eyes  
And I'd say two, would be turning back our lives  
Three's a long way to go, for that kind of wind to blow  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise

Once, we were dreamers on the rise  
We were the sun, where the sun never shines  
And we would go, where the night bird only flies  
Oh, that's a long time you know, for that kind of wind to blow  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise  
Long time ago, we were dreamers on the rise

**Words and music by John Stewart**


End file.
